


Montana Red

by Jane Elliot (JaneElliot)



Series: Previously Published [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gangbang, M/M, Reference to Pre-Story Underage, Western
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:24:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 59,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaneElliot/pseuds/Jane%20Elliot
Summary: When Henry Longfellow (no relation) fled San Francisco for the wilds of Montana, he had no idea the trouble he'd face.Well.Maybe "trouble" isn't the right word.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first of seven stories that were previously published at Manifold Press. The rights reverted back to me in August 2018 and I've decided to post the stories at AO3, for anyone who missed the opportunity to buy them when they were previously available. 
> 
> Montana Red was published by Manifold Press in 2013. Thank you to Fiona Pickles and the rest of the Manifold Press crew for their hard work and dedication to high quality LGBTQ fiction!

Perhaps he was being melodramatic, but Henry Longfellow honestly hadn’t been sure that he’d get out of California alive.  Escaping San Francisco was a miracle all by itself, even with the precautions he took to cover his tracks as he sold his possessions, a few articles at a time, at shops on the very fringes of the city.  They had all been grimy, disreputable stores, the kind that a Hamlin would never dream of patronizing, which was the very reason that Henry chose them.

Buying supplies for the road was too risky to contemplate while still in San Francisco, so Henry boarded a night train with nothing more than the money in his pocket and the clothes on his back.  He stayed on board all the way to Lake’s Crossing, Nevada, where a small army of men were painting over every sign in town, replacing ‘Lake’s Crossing’ with the word ‘Reno’. 

Henry was immediately distracted.  Many of the painters were handsome men and a handful of them had stripped off their shirts to protect them from the paint.  He caught himself before his staring could be too obvious; he didn’t even want to imagine how a man like him would be treated in the wilds of the territories.

Once Henry had equipped himself with a horse and gear, he considered his options.  California lay to both the west and the south, and Henry had spent far too much time and money escaping the state to risk going back over its borders.  Directly north was the relatively new state of Oregon, which was too tamed and civilized for Henry’s needs.  He briefly considered going east, but that would put him into the notorious Mormon colony in the Utah Territory and Henry couldn’t imagine finding a home among a highly religious people. 

In the end he opted to go north-east, towards Canada, with the vague intention of finding a quiet little spot where he could build a cabin and live in isolation. 

Every mile he went, every step he put between himself and the Hamlin family, drained away a little more of Henry’s fear.  By the time he reached the Montana Territory, he was finally starting to feel like he might be safe.

As he made his way to the booming mining town of Butte, Henry sat up straighter in his saddle and heaved in a deep breath of pure, sweet mountain air, untainted by even the slightest hint of smoke or sea or human waste.  It had panged him to leave his birthplace, but on days like these he barely missed San Francisco at all.

Evangeline tossed her head and Henry allowed himself a smile at her name as he leaned forward and patted her pretty white neck.  She might not be as faithful and loyal as the poetic character she was named after, but she was reliable and hadn’t given him too much trouble.  Her easy-going nature had been vital when they’d first started out from Reno and Henry had learned that Mr. Hamlin’s riding lessons weren’t much use outside of short city jaunts.

Those first few weeks had been difficult, as he’d developed sores from sitting in the unfamiliar saddle all day and he could hardly sleep at night on the thin bit of padding that served as his bedroll.  Cooking over a fire had been a challenge as well; he’d never had to cook a day in his life before, but he could only imagine it was easier if done over a stove.  Even learning to take care of a horse every night was harder than he’d imagined.  What was a pleasure and a delight when he was fully rested was a misery when he was so exhausted that he could barely raise the curry brush.

Fortunately, Evangeline didn’t seem to hold a grudge, though at the moment she was being unusually difficult.  For the tenth time in less than that number of minutes, she tossed her head and pranced a few steps to the right.  Henry frowned and yanked her reins a bit before he guiltily remembered Mr. Hamlin telling him that that was something he should never do to a horse.

It didn’t seem to do much good, anyway, as Evangeline kept fighting him right up to the moment that a man stepped out from the trees.

Henry froze for a moment before offering a tentative smile.  “Um, hello.”

“Good day,” the man said genially and Henry relaxed in the saddle.  The stranger looked a bit rough with his homespun clothes and his wild hair, but his manner seemed pleasant and, truth be told, everyone in the territorial wilds looked rough to Henry’s city-trained eyes.

“Can you tell me how far I am from Butte?” Henry asked hopefully.  “I thought I’d have hit it by now.”

The man chortled.  “You’re a fair ways west off Butte.  Closest civilization around here is Copper Creek, and that’s a good ten miles off.”

“Oh,” Henry said, taken aback.  “I hadn’t realized how far off I was.  Ten miles isn’t so bad, though.  I can be in Copper Creek by tomorrow.”

The man laughed again, and this time there was a mean edge to the sound.  “I hate to tell you this, son, but you ain’t ever going to be seeing Copper Creek.”

Suddenly the trees around them erupted in movement and a half dozen men on horses burst through.  Evangeline, who had just started to calm down, bounced a couple of times on straight legs and abruptly reared, throwing Henry clean off the saddle.  Lying on the tiny dirt trail, stunned and in pain, Henry began to realize that maybe his flight from San Francisco wouldn’t have a happy ending after all.

“Now,” the stranger – the bandit, apparently – said, coming forward to stand over Henry’s prone body.  “What are we going to do with you?”


	2. Chapter 2

September 1864 was a great time to be a citizen in the Montana Territory, Red thought as his body rocked along with his horse’s lazy walk.  Gold had just been discovered near Last Chance Gulch, the silver and copper mines in Butte were churning out a king’s ransom, and everything from wool to weapons were in high demand thanks to the supply needs of the war between the states back east.  Said war, which was turning farms into battlefields, was also responsible for massive numbers of cattle being driven towards the Atlantic states.  The result was record high prices on beef and greatly increased demand for pork and mutton.  Just that morning, Red had signed a contract with a butcher in Butte, promising up to 60 sheep a year, delivered monthly when weather conditions permitted.  Red intended to fill those orders with his older animals, whose wool production was decreasing.  The meat on older animals wasn’t fit for human consumption, but people in Butte considered even fine spring lamb as one step down from dog meat and would only buy it as an alternative to starvation.  No point in wasting the lambs when he could save them for his own dinner table.

Even better than Montana’s booming economy, at least to Red’s way of thinking, was that Copper Creek’s own Missy Perdue had just gotten engaged to her daddy’s foreman.  For Red, that meant that all the currently eligible women in town were now spoken for and would no longer have to be half-heartedly courted.  With any luck the younger girls would soon be taken care of as well – Jessie Rankin was quite vocal about her intention to move to Chicago the moment she turned seventeen and Beth Landry was sweet on George Tanner, the blacksmith’s apprentice.  Thankfully, George didn’t appear to be immune to her charms.

All of this positive news was made sweeter by the truly glorious day that surrounded Red: the air was warm but not hot; the dark evergreens were swaying slightly in a gentle breeze; and not a cloud marred the perfect blue of the sky.  If it weren’t for the vultures circling overhead, the view would be damn near perfect.

Unfortunately the vultures couldn’t be ignored.  If they’d been just a bit further to the east, Red would have ridden on by – animals died all the time out in the forests, and he didn’t have the time or inclination to worry about someone else’s land.  When vultures circled over a patch of Red’s own land, however, chances were a sheep had gotten separated from the flock or a coyote had gotten past the fences.  If it was the former, time was short as a sheep separated from its flock rarely lasted longer than a mayfly.  If it was the latter, Red needed to take care of the carcass before his herd dogs gave into temptation.  A dog that got a taste for mutton would never be safe around sheep again, and he hated to put down a good dog.

Shifting forward in his saddle, Red tightened his grip with his knees and the horse, who had been near sleeping as far as Red could see, perked up.  Red guided her to the southwest, near the edge of his property where a narrow gully had caught many a wayward lamb.  He kept meaning to fence off that gully, but that meant either building a bridge to put the fence on the other side, or putting the fence on this side and cutting himself off from a good water source when the snow melt made its way down the mountain in early summer.  Putting off the fence seemed easier than deciding where the fence should be built.

Sure enough, the vultures were circling right over the gully and Red slid off his horse with a sigh.  The gully was only ten feet deep, but the sides were straight up and down, making it damn difficult to get back out once you were in.  Not to mention that if the animal in the gully was still alive, chances were it had a broken leg.  Red didn’t have his pistol with him and he wasn’t particularly looking forward to having to slaughter an animal with his boot knife.

It was the work of a moment to tie a rope to the pommel of his saddle and climb down into the gully.  Searching the bed of the gully was harder; this time of the year it was filled with brush and tumbleweed, and he didn’t so much find the body as he did accidentally kick it.  Red swore as he cleared away a surprising amount of brush; the lack of bleating probably meant the animal was dead.

Only it wasn’t a sheep that Red found at the bottom of that pile of brush, and he swore again as he pulled a man out from the tangle of dead branches.  The newly revealed stranger was naked as the day he was born, and Red wasn’t holding out much hope as he flipped the man onto his back to put an ear to his chest.

Red relaxed as he heard a heartbeat, strong and regular, if a bit slow.  Sitting back on his heels, he looked the man over: tall, almost as tall as Red, though much thinner and lacking much in the way of muscle tone.  He had a nice head of hair, though, and his features were so regular and shapely that he skirted the line between handsome and pretty.  Red glanced down and raised an impressed eyebrow; the man’s cock was on the smallish side, but his balls were the biggest Red had ever seen.  The thought of those balls jiggling frantically, framed by the man’s widespread thighs as Red thrust into him – well, it was a striking image.

Not the time to be thinking about that, though, not with the man unconscious and in obviously bad shape.  Red glanced at the side of the gully, lined with sandstone and small rocks, and then down at the man’s scratched, sunburned body.  He could get the two of them up, no problems there, but it’d be next to impossible to manage that without shredding the man’s skin in the process.  Red shook his head and started unbuttoning his shirt.  At least he’d started wearing his long johns again a couple of weeks before; if he’d found the stranger in the middle of the summer, this would be a lot less pleasant.

By the time Red hauled the now-clothed stranger up the side of the gully and piled him onto the horse, the sun was setting.  Red looked down at his dust-covered long johns with a sigh, then carefully mounted the horse, taking pains not to hit the body draped over the back of the saddle.  Not the most comfortable way for Red to carry a second rider, but hopefully it would get the job done.

The ride back was miserable.  Red hadn’t realized how much of a difference his heavy canvas pants made to his comfort when riding and every few feet the unconscious man threatened to slide right off the horse until Red finally gave up and hauled the man forward until he was draped over Red’s legs.  After that, the discomfort was of a more personal nature and Red was very grateful when he topped the ridge right before his homestead.  The neat wooden cabin and large weathered barn had never looked so inviting.

Getting off the horse was another adventure, but once Red’s feet were on the ground he had matters under control.  Slinging the stranger over his shoulder, Red carried him into the cabin and dumped him on the bed before going back out and taking care of his horse.

Once the horse was stabled and fed, Red hauled a couple of buckets of water from the well and brought them inside.  One went on the stove and Red took a few seconds to restart the banked fire before carrying the other bucket to the bedroom.

At some point the stranger had shifted from the rather uncomfortable-looking heap Red had left him in to a slightly more stretched out position, though he was still curled up like a baby.  That he was moving at all was a good sign, though, and Red didn’t rush as he got out his bottle of whisky, trimmed the lamp and lit it, and stripped the man back down to skin.

In the uneven lamplight, the man looked rather worse for the wear.  Bruises were coming up along his ribs, back and butt; long scratches covered his body from the crown of his head down to the soles of his feet; and while the sunburn on his front wasn’t terrible, there were patches on his back that were nearly crimson.  It could have been worse, however: there were no bullet holes or knife wounds that Red could see, and a quick inspection quelled any fears of rape.  All things considered, the stranger had come off lightly.  Even the ticks seemed to have been kind: Red only found four of them to burn off, two in the man’s hair and two at the groin.  As a bonus, the ticks gave Red an excuse to weigh the stranger’s balls.  They were just as heavy as they looked.

Once the stranger was bathed and wrestled into a pair of Red’s oldest and most tattered long johns, Red went to the kitchen and scooped out a bowl of water from the bucket on the stove.  He scrubbed himself down quickly, though he took a few extra seconds to ensure that he’d removed every particle of grit from intimate places, and went outside to pour the wash water on the vegetable garden.  He admired the lush greenery with satisfaction; at least he wouldn’t starve despite the unexpected extra mouth to feed.

A loud _thwack_ pulled his attention away from his vegetables.  Muttering a curse, Red went around to the back of the barn, where the tiny ram pasture was.  Sure enough, Colin and Liam were butting horns, which meant that at least one of the ewes had gone into estrus, a full week earlier than last year and at least a month earlier than Red’s breeding schedule allowed.  It wasn’t an insurmountable problem – the ewes would keep going into heat every seventeen days for the next few months – but it meant the rams would have to be separated.  That would make them irritable, since rams were social creatures when not trying to kill each other over the chance to breed the entire flock without assistance.

Of course, the rams were too stupid to remember that they each had a flock of ewes all their own.  Red’s father had adopted the unconventional practice before Red was born and while the maintenance of four separate fenced pastures was time consuming and at times downright irritating, the lack of inbreeding and the inability of a bad ram to ruin an entire a lamb harvest were worth the extra effort.  Besides, Red’s father had also adopted the hands-off ranching style of the Australians, which cost Red a few sheep every year to predators and problematic births, but allowed him a total flock size far larger than most American sheepherders could manage with just one person.  Thus far, the arrangement was paying off in spades.

Separating the rams was an unpleasant bit of business, as even Conan and Lochlan were inclined to be huffy and Colin and Liam were just as happy to attack Red as they were each other.  In the end, Red was forced to bodily lift the two rams and while lifting a fighting, 200 pound animal wasn’t beyond Red’s abilities, it wasn’t enjoyable either.  By the time all was said and done, he had an impressive array of bruises covering his arms and legs and a sore nose where Colin had gotten in a lucky head butt.  As a result, he wasn’t in the best of moods when he stomped his way back to the cabin.

That mood was immeasurably worsened by discovering a long john-clad stranger rifling through Red’s chest of valuables.  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

The stranger started so hard that he toppled over from his crouched position.  “Gah!”

Red strode forward until he was standing over the stranger.  “Answer me, dammit!”

“Nothing!” the man protested, scuttling backwards till his back slammed up against the wall.  “I wasn’t doing anything, I swear!”

Red eyed the cowering man and then glanced at the chest.  The contents were slightly out of place but looked intact.  “What were you doing in my box, then?”

“Just trying to figure out where I am,” the man said hastily.  “Last thing I remember, I was naked in a ditch.”

Red considered that.  “Fair enough.  No rifling through my stuff in the future, though, you hear me?  You got questions, you ask me directly.”

“The future?” the man said faintly.

Looking more closely, Red decided that it was probably too soon for the man to be out of bed; he looked half ready to expire right there in the corner of the kitchen.  Picking the stranger up and dumping him on the bed would probably give the wrong impression, however.  Red greatly enjoyed fleshy delights but only when all parties were willing. 

With that in mind, Red pulled out a chair from the table and settled down for a chat, relaxing his shoulders and spine and intentionally softening his features, like he would if he were approaching a skittish lamb.  After a moment, the stranger relaxed slightly, though he made no attempt to remove himself from his corner.  “I think we got off on the wrong foot,” Red said, once the stranger looked calmer.  “My name’s Elias Redmond, but most everyone calls me Red.”  The other man’s eyes wandered up to Red’s bright ginger hair and Red grinned.  “Exactly.  Got it from my mom’s side; she was a good Irish Catholic girl till she answered my dad’s advertisement.  What about you?”

The man started.  “Ah.  English stock, I believe, though there may have been some German in the mix.”

Red rolled his eyes.  “Your _name_.  What’s your name?”

“Oh!  Henry Longfellow, at your service.  No relation.”

Red stared at him blankly.  “No relation to what?”

Henry looked taken aback.  “The poet.”  When Red just kept on staring, Henry added, “Greatest American poet who ever lived?  Wrote _Evangeline_?”

“Don’t have much use for poetry,” Red said with a shrug.  “Reading and writing’s all well and good when it comes to business affairs, but anything more than that’s a waste.”

Henry’s expression was a study: he couldn’t have looked more shocked if Red had suggested bending over for one of the rams.  Shock was a good look for the man, though; now that he was conscious and aware, he really was quite uncommonly attractive.  Fortunately, the animation of his face gave his features a decidedly masculine cast, but Red had never seen a prettier pair of golden brown eyes. 

A face that beautiful would even tempt a man not generally inclined in the masculine direction, especially when the face was attached to a buck naked body.  Henry must’ve had the devil’s own luck to come out of that robbery with nothing more than bruises and a sunburn.

“Those men who robbed you,” Red said abruptly.  “They didn’t assault you, did they?”

Henry glanced down at his body and then looked up again with a wry expression.  “I think it’s self-evident that they did.”

Red rolled his eyes.  “I mean, did they rape you?”  It hadn’t appeared that they had from Red’s inspection, but there was more than one way to take your pleasure from a man.

“Ah.  Well, the matter was discussed, but I made it known that it would be a matter of honor for me to bite off anything forced into my mouth.”

Red lifted his eyebrows, impressed, even as he instinctively moved a hand to his lap.

“The leader of the rogues who attacked me laughed at that, and declared that since I was so serious about my honor, he’d let me keep it.”  Henry glanced down again.  “As you can see, that’s all he let me keep.”

That was the very subject that needed to be addressed.  “What all did they take?”

“My horse, my clothes, my money.”  Henry smiled ruefully.  “In short, everything I owned.”

“How about family?  Friends?  You got anyone you can go to for help?”

Henry’s face shuttered.  “No.  No one.”

Red studied that closed-off face.  “Hard world for a man without friends.”

“Trust me, I’m aware of that,” Henry said bitterly.

“You need clothes and food, at least.”

“And a job,” Henry said, his voice very level.  “Preferably.”

Red considered Henry closely, taking in his soft hands and remembering his unscarred body.  “What do you know about sheep?”

“That they produce wool,” Henry said immediately.  “And they can theoretically be eaten.”

Red snorted.  “Theoretically?”

“Not something I’ve attempted, as yet.”

“You’ll be eating a lot of it here, if you stay.”

“Is staying an option?”

Red opened his mouth to tease a little more, but the weariness and wariness on Henry’s face stopped him.  Feeling a mite ashamed, Red got to the point.  “I could use a hand about the ranch.  It’d be hard work, mind, and not very pleasant at times, but you’d get room and board and five dollars a week.”

Henry opened his mouth, then closed it again, his eyes blinking rapidly.  “You –” he croaked, then stopped and cleared his throat.  “That’s a very generous offer.”

Red shrugged, feeling uncomfortable.  “It’s not charity or anything.  You’ll be earning every penny.  And I won’t have any arguing; I tell you to do something, you do it.  If you don’t like the jobs I give you, there’s the door.  You can leave anytime.”

“Still  –”  Henry rubbed his nose and blinked a few more times, “– still.  That’s very generous.  I accept.”

Red beamed.  “That’s good.  Now, get back on the bed.  You look ready to topple over.”

Henry looked conflicted, but stood up.  Before he could take a step, however, a loud gurgling sound filled the room.  Red raised an eyebrow.  “When was the last time you ate?”

It was hard to tell through the sunburn, but he thought Henry was blushing.  “I don’t recall.  It’s been a while.”

“Take a seat, then.  I’ll get supper ready.”

The next hour passed enjoyably enough.  Red took the pot of dried lamb he’d set to soaking that morning, drained off the majority of the salty water, and added onions and potatoes.  As he worked, he talked about the history of the ranch, going all the way back to when Amos Redmond, Red’s father, had decided to give up trapping in Canada and brought a small herd of ten animals west to settle in a remote part of Montana.  Amos didn’t know the first thing about raising sheep, however, and for the first couple of decades, the ranch was a small operation, barely able to feed Amos, much less provide enough for him to expand.  Things improved dramatically when Abigail Kelly answered Amos’s advertisement for a bride, bringing with her boundless energy and extensive knowledge of Irish sheep-raising practices.  By the time Amos and Abigail died, less than six weeks apart, the ranch had grown to two pastures and the flock was steadily growing by a few animals every year.

When control of the ranch fell to Red’s hands, he’d spent a month’s income on telegraphs and mail-order books, learning everything he could about the latest innovations in sheep ranching.  It took a while to find a system that worked best, but these days, the sheep mostly took care of themselves.  Red’s time was mostly spent on ranch maintenance, on putting up the miles of wooden fence needed to add a fifth pasture, and on maintaining good relations with his neighbors.

“Speaking of which, there’s going to be a dance next week at the McNally farm.  Half the town’s going to be there, from what I’ve heard.  Of course there still won’t be enough women to go around, but men take turns playing the ladies’ role on the dance floor.  You don’t have to dance with a fellow if you don’t want to, but no one would think anything less of you if you did.”

Red glanced over his shoulder to see how that hint was received, only to find Henry had laid his head down on the table and was clearly asleep.  Red smiled and felt a wave of fondness much like he felt on those rare occasions where he had to bottle-raise a lamb.

Rather more gently than he had to, Red shook Henry awake and put a bowl of food under his nose.  Henry blinked blearily for a second or two, then glanced down and perked up noticeably.  He inhaled most of his bowl before Red had a chance to make a significant dent in his own food and then abruptly stopped.  Red glanced over at the bucket, wondering if it would be needed, but Henry merely dropped his head back down to the table next to his bowl.  A moment later, soft snoring noises could be heard.

Grinning, Red finished his meal and the last few bites of Henry’s before tidying the cabin for the night.  Once the last bowl had been scrubbed and the last lamp extinguished, Red hauled Henry out of his chair, tossed him over a shoulder, and carried him into the bedroom.

Deciding that they could discuss sleeping arrangements in the morning, Red slung Henry over to the other side of the bed and crawled in after him.  He’d barely gotten settled before the warm body next to him shifted over and a chilly nose buried itself in his neck.  Red smiled up into the darkness and closed his eyes, savoring the feel of a warm body next to him and an airy lightness in his chest.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning, Henry woke up to an empty bed.  He couldn’t remember much of the night before after accepting Red’s job offer, but at the moment he felt warm and safe and he stayed still for a few seconds to enjoy the rare sensation.

He did have a job to do, though, even if he didn’t know exactly what that job was going to consist of, so Henry reluctantly dragged himself from the bed.  He looked down at his borrowed long johns in dismay, but he had nothing else to wear, so he straightened them as best as he could and marched out into the main part of the cabin with his head held high.

Only to find an empty room.  The room itself was quite tidy, except for a plate of food on the stove.  Henry eyed that plate longingly, but he’d learned his lesson the night before and wasn’t about to risk touching anything without Red’s express permission.

It was only a few minutes before Red stepped inside, a bucket in one hand and a basket in the other.  Henry tried not to squirm as Red glanced at the plate and then back at Henry.  “Not hungry?”

“I wasn’t sure if it was for me,” Henry admitted.

Red frowned.  “It’s for you.  Eat up, we’ve got a busy day ahead of us.”

Henry bolted his food, his eyes locked on the other man the entire time.  Red moved around without hurry, but with a clear sense of purpose as he poured some of the contents of the bucket – milk, it appeared – into a glass jar on the counter.  Next to the jar was a large bowl and most of the contents of the basket – vegetables – filled the bowl till it threatened to overflow.  Without a word, Red walked back out again, taking the rest of the milk and vegetables with him.

Unable to control his curiosity, Henry stood up and inspected the contents of the counter.  The jar looked identical to the Mason jars his mother used in the latter years of her life, replacing the wax sealed jars she’d used for the bulk of Henry’s childhood.  He’d never seen her put milk in one of the jars, though, and he couldn’t imagine why Red had chosen to do so.

The vegetables were more straightforward, though Henry certainly hoped that they wouldn’t be expected to eat all of them at one sitting.  He’d heard that some men in the wilds, lacking the woman’s knowledge of canning, would force feed themselves in the fall when food was plentiful so that they could survive the lean months of winter, but Henry had doubts about his own ability to consume the levels of food necessary.  Even if he did manage it, he wasn’t looking forward to the prospect of being hungry for months on end.

An empty-handed Red returned at that point, thankfully breaking up Henry’s dire thoughts.  “I think I have some clothes that might fit you.”

Ten minutes later Henry was swimming in a massive pair of canvas trousers and a shirt so big that it resembled a woman’s dress.  Henry held up his pants with one hand and tried very hard to ignore the way Red was giggling. 

“Perhaps a belt?”

Eventually Henry was decently, if not attractively, clothed.  He followed Red out to the barn, where he was handed an old, cloth-covered saddle and a set of reins.  Under Red’s watchful eye, he saddled a placid bay gelding.

“Not bad,” Red said, testing the girth.  “Not bad at all.  Why don’t you go ahead and do the black one as well.”

“What’s her name?” Henry asked as he saddled a lovely black mare who kept trying to nibble his hair.

Red blinked as if the question had never occurred to him.  “Um.  The black one?”

Henry stared at him, appalled.  “And that one?” he asked, pointing at the bay.

“The brown one,” Red said, sounding more confident now.

Henry sighed.

Once the horses were saddled to Red’s satisfaction, Henry was given the brown one –

“Hyperion,” he murmured under his breath, patting the horse’s neck each time he did so

– while Red mounted the mare.  Assuming that they were finally heading off to do some real work, Henry followed Red out of the barn and down to an overgrown wagon trail leading away from the ranch.  Almost immediately, Red started pointing out landmarks: a tall pillar of yellow-gray rock that had a man-sized boulder delicately balanced on top; a stand of birches with brilliant white bark and gleaming golden leaves standing in stark contrast to the dark evergreens that surrounded them; a shallow ditch that Red explained would be overflowing with water in April and May.  The latter was apparently the same wash that Henry had gotten trapped in when he was fleeing the bandits; if he’d just gone a half mile further he would have been able to walk out of the wash with ease.

“Usually there’s a bridge here,” Red explained as he carefully led his mare down into the ditch.  “It got washed away this spring.  Pain in the ass bringing the wagon across without it, but we haven’t been able to get enough men to put a new bridge in.  No one cares about the ranchers these days; it’s all about the gold and the copper.”

“But don’t the gold and copper mines bring in more money?” Henry asked hesitantly.

“You can’t eat gold.  You can’t wear copper.”

That was true.  Living in San Francisco his entire life, Henry sometimes forgot that the food he ate had to be grown or raised.  In the city, all that mattered was money: who had it, who wanted it, how it was made.  Influence was money and money was influence.

“How much does a bridge cost?” Henry asked.

“Time and men,” Red said.  “Well.  Time, men, and a really damn big tree.”

Henry was still trying to figure out how a bridge could be made out of a single tree, no matter how big, when his thoughts were interrupted by Red pointing out a tree with unusually ragged bark and explaining how that indicated a bear was in the area.  The rest of the ride went by that way and by the end Henry felt that he’d learned more about nature in one hour than he had in his entire life previous.

The town of Copper Creek was nothing like Henry had expected.  He’d been told that there were no settlements of any significance between the rapidly growing boomtown known as Last Chance and the largest city in the area, Butte, so he’d assumed that the supply town that serviced the surrounding ranches would be little more than a general store and a post office.  Instead he found a large town, albeit one composed primarily of canvas tents.  Henry paused at top of the last rise before Copper Creek, taking in the sheer chaos of the place.  The dozen or so wooden buildings were barely visible among the scores of tents that sprawled over both sides of the wide, shallow creek that presumably gave the town its name.  The wending paths between the tents were full of animals and people, all colored in varying shades of brown, giving the entire town the feel of living, breathing dirt.  Interspersed between the tents were a scant handful of wooden buildings under construction; presumably this was what the local men were doing instead of replacing the ranch bridge.

As Henry and Red moved closer, smells and sounds built up into a reeking, roaring discord that overwhelmed the senses.  Henry found himself choking on dust and stench, and was so disoriented by the press of noise and people and animals that he very nearly lost Red in the crowd.  The only reason he wasn’t lost was Hyperion, who continued on even when the reins went slack in Henry’s hands.

Henry couldn’t say how long Hyperion carried him through the throng before the horse stopped.  Blinking rapidly, Henry lifted his head to find himself next to Red, who was watching Henry with an amused look on his face.

“Alright there, cowboy?”

Henry managed a wobbly smile.  “Too much time travelling alone, I guess.  This really isn’t that much worse than San Francisco.”  Henry glanced about.  “Well, parts of San Francisco, anyway.”

“San Francisco, huh?” Red looked inexplicably pleased.  “Always wanted to see the ocean.”

“It is beautiful,” Henry said wistfully.  Looking about at the dusty, parched surroundings, he found himself sharply missing the sea.

“How’d a city boy like you end up out here anyway?”

Henry smiled bitterly.  “I guess it was just time for an adventure.”

“Hm,” Red said, looking unconvinced.  Abruptly he slid off of the mare’s back and strode toward the open flap of the tent they were currently in front of.  Startled, Henry half fell off of his own horse, considered Hyperion’s loose reins, tied them to the saddle as Red had done with the mare’s reins, and hurried into the tent.

The interior of the tent was much nicer than Henry would have guessed from its dingy exterior.  A rough but clean wooden floor kept them well above the dirt of the street, two full-length mirrors graced one wall, and a corner in the back of the tent was carefully blocked off with exquisite lacquered screens that reminded Henry of the exotic art he’d seen the one time he’d snuck into San Francisco’s Chinatown.

“One good thing about the gold strike – you can finally buy decent clothes in Copper Creek,” Red said.  “The general store doesn’t have much more than overalls and smocks, but Miss Liu stocks the best clothes in the state.”

Henry looked over the merchandise doubtfully.  The piles of rough trousers and homespun shirts didn’t particularly inspire him with confidence.  Then again, he wasn’t a lawyer anymore.  He couldn’t afford the fashionable fitted suits and high-collared shirts he’d worn back in San Francisco.

Picking up one of the dun-colored pants, Henry held it up to his waist.  The canvas was rough against his fingers and he didn’t relish the thought of it rubbing against more delicate skin.

“Looks like a good fit, dearie.”

Henry started, dropping the trousers in surprise.

Standing next to him was a wizened Chinese woman who barely reached Henry’s chest.

“Miss Liu,” Red said warmly.  “It’s so good to see you again!”

“It’s as if you were just here yesterday,” Miss Liu said in a dry voice.

Henry blinked.  No matter how many times she spoke, the accent was clearly British.

“Miss Liu was adopted by British missionaries as a baby,” Red said.

“Ah.  It’s very nice to meet you, Miss Liu.  You have a lovely shop here.”

Miss Liu beamed at him.  “Aren’t you a sweet thing?”

Henry opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say.

“He surely is,” Red cut in.  “And he’s my new ranch hand, so I’ll be the one buying his gear today.”

Miss Liu looked Henry over and then winked at Red.  Henry felt himself flush, even if he wasn’t quite sure why.

The next thirty minutes were spent with Miss Liu’s fingers pushing a tape measure into places that Henry preferred to remain untouched, but the end result was three pairs of perfectly fitted trousers, a handful of surprisingly comfortable shirts, and a half dozen pairs of long johns.

“This is too much,” Henry protested as he saw the size of the final pile of clothes.  “I don’t need this many sets of clothes.”

“It’s for me, not for you,” Red said, picking coins out of a leather wallet.  “Most folks around here wash their clothes once a month, if that.  I’ll expect you to do better.”

Henry hadn’t washed clothing before in his life, but nodded dutifully.  How difficult could it be?

After buying clothes they went to an outfitter, where an ancient man equipped Henry with boots and a hat.  The man hadn’t said a word to Henry and barely more than that to Red, but the boots were wonderful: tightly stitched and perfectly fitted.

Henry thought they’d head back to the ranch then, but instead Red led them to the heart of the town, where the tents were larger and sturdier and eventually replaced by solid, permanent structures.  Here there was a general store, a post office, a bank, a sheriff’s office, two hotels, and a saloon. 

“The blacksmith is next to the stables at the east end of town,” Red explained.  “And there’s talk of building a schoolhouse a couple of blocks south, but the schoolteacher got engaged a few months back and will probably be moving away, so who knows what’ll happen with the school.”  He glanced over at Henry before adding, “The brothels are in a couple of tents on the west end, if you’re in need of servicing.”

Henry felt his cheeks burn.  “I’m fine.”

“Really?  Must’ve been a while since you’ve felt a woman’s touch.”

‘Never’ would have been more accurate, but it wasn’t as if he could explain that it wasn’t a woman’s touch he was craving.  “I’m fine.”

Red looked pleased again, for some reason.  “All right.  Then all we need to do is report your robbery to the sheriff and we can head back to the ranch.”

Henry froze.  “No.”

“I know Montana has a reputation –”

“It’s not that.”

“– but Sheriff Plummer and his gang of outlaws were killed months ago.  Sheriff Winchester is a good man.”

“It’s not that,” Henry repeated, trying not to imagine how far law and order had to have broken down for the _sheriff_ to have been the leader of a gang of outlaws.  “The man who attacked me; he said if I ever tried to report him or his men, he’d come back and kill me.”

“That’s a common threat,” Red said dismissively.  “Fact is, the gang’s probably long gone.  Even if they weren’t, there’s no way they’d know that you reported them unless the sheriff’s dishonest.  And you have my word, you can trust Sheriff Winchester.”

Honestly, none of that made Henry feel the slightest bit better, but he didn’t bother to protest again as he followed Red into the dusty and dim sheriff’s office.  It was a small, simple structure, with two tiny cells in the back taking up the majority of the space.  The remainder was filled with a small desk and a single hard backed chair.  The chair was occupied by a giant bear of a man, who was wearing a bowler hat that contrasted sharply with his bushy black beard.

“Damn my eyes,” the man boomed.  “Red Redmond, is that you?”

“In the flesh,” Red said, laughing.  “How the hell are you, Willie?”

“Having a great day so far.  I’m guessing that’s about to change?”

Red sobered and nodded.  “My friend here needs to make a report.  Willie, this is Henry Longfellow.  Henry, this is Sheriff Willie Winchester.”

With both Red and the sheriff looking at him, Henry nearly quailed.  He rallied his courage with an effort, however, and told the story of the attack.  The sheriff looked serious as he listened to the story, but he didn’t bother to take notes and in the end Henry wasn’t sure how useful the entire exercise had been.

“I’ll keep an eye out,” the sheriff promised, which was something at least.  “But chances are this gang has already moved on.  There’s richer pickings closer to Butte and less law in Last Chance Gulch.  I wouldn’t worry too much about seeing this gang again.”

Henry tried his best to smile, but he was happy enough to sink back into the shadows as Red and the sheriff exchanged a few more gruff pleasantries.  Maybe the sheriff was right.  Maybe that gang was really gone.

If only Henry was so lucky.

~~~

The following few days were the most exhausting of Henry’s life.  Every morning he woke up early, aching from the straw pallet that he’d made up in the corner of Red’s bedroom, and set to doing his morning chores.  Before breakfast he milked the cow, collected the eggs, and fed and watered all of the animals in the barn.  Breakfast was usually handled by Red, who liked good food and made meals as tasty, if not as fancy, as those of Mr. Hamlin’s imported French chef.

After breakfast, Henry fed the breakfast scraps to the pigs, hauled water, weeded the garden, mucked out the stalls, and, depending on the day, did laundry, canned vegetables, made butter, or helped Red with repairs around the ranch.  In the evenings, Red taught Henry skills he’d need in future chores; that’s when Henry had learned how to prepare food for canning, to clean clothes with a washboard and a wringer, and to turn cream into butter with a Mason jar.

“I don’t know how you did all of this alone,” Henry said, shaking the heavy glass jar with both hands.  He thought he could see lumps forming inside the cream, but that might just have been wishful thinking.

“You’ll get faster with time,” Red reassured him.  He was darning a pair of socks with quick, neat stitches that Henry would undoubtedly be required to learn in the near future.

“Maybe,” Henry said doubtfully.  “I had no idea how much work sheep ranching was.”

“Well, truth be told, most sheep ranchers aren’t as particular as I am.  Many don’t even have a permanent home; they just follow their flocks around with a wagon and eat nothing but salt pork and canned beans every day.”

Henry wrinkled his nose.  “Doesn’t seem like a very nice way to live.”

“Exactly,” Red said in satisfaction.  He tied off his thread and inspected his socks, which looked as good as new.  “Now, let’s see how that butter is coming.”

Aside from the evenings, Henry didn’t spend a lot of time with Red.  In the mornings, Red chopped wood, both for the stove and for the fence he was building around what would eventually be the fifth pasture.  Despite the increasing morning coolness, Red chopped the wood with his shirt off and Henry always lost a few minutes every day peeking out the cabin’s lone window.  Each time Red brought up the axe, Henry could see his massive chest, covered with curly, dark red hair.  When he brought down the axe his back was revealed, full of tight, flexing muscles that narrowed down to an exquisitely shaped waist.

A minute, maybe two.  That was all that Henry allowed himself.  It was easier after lunch, though, when Red went out to continue construction of the fence, leaving Henry to work off the tension that built up each morning.

A week to the day after Henry first came to the ranch, Red hauled a large tin washtub out from the barn and covered the stove with buckets of water.  Henry eyed the tub askance; they’d both taken baths every other day in the smaller tin tub that Henry used for laundry and while Henry could see the appeal of a larger tub, it hardly seemed worth the effort of heating up so much extra water. 

“Time to wash the pillows and comforter?” Henry guessed.  It seemed like a crazy thing to do, but Red was more worried about cleanliness than most of the city folk Henry had known much less what Henry had expected of a rancher.

“Time to get gussied up,” Red corrected.  “There’s a dance tonight.”

“Oh,” Henry said, feeling oddly let down.  “Do you need any help getting ready?”

“Don’t worry about me; you should be getting yourself ready.”

“Me!”

“What, did you think you weren’t invited?  All of the ranchers and their hands are welcome, along with a few townsfolk.  I’ll warn you, there probably won’t be many women, but a few of the men will be willing to dance with other men.”

Henry gaped at him.  “What?”

“Yep,” Red said, amazingly casual as he started emptying steaming buckets of water into the tub.  “They’ll be wearing strips of cloth tied around their upper arms.  Just ask them to dance like you would a woman.”

“But – doesn’t anyone think that’s odd?”

“Maybe it would be strange back in San Francisco,” Red allowed.  “Out here, though, there’s not enough women for everyone to get a dance if they had to wait for a free lady.  We make do.”

“Oh.”

“You can use the bath after I’m done, if you want,” Red offered, putting aside the last of the buckets and stripping off his clothes.

Henry quickly turned away, his cheeks burning.  “T-thank you.  I’ll do that.  Take your time, though; I’ve still got to take care of the animals.”  Except that he was facing the wrong way to get to the barn.  Cursing silently, Henry turned around, catching a glimpse of a heavily-muscled thigh and the hint of a long, thick manhood that put his own penis to shame.  Heart pounding, Henry hurried outside and slammed the door shut behind him.  The moment he was in the yard he stopped and bent over at the waist, gasping for breath and desperately trying to ignore the tightening between his legs.


	4. Chapter 4

Red leaned back in the tub, stretching out as much as he could in the cramped space.  The animal tub was larger than the washtub by a fair bit, but it was still too small to comfortably hold a man of his size.  Someday, he hoped to get a real bathtub, like he’d seen in the mail-order catalogues.  Some of them looked big enough to fit two people, though they’d have to be very friendly.  Red grinned at the thought of being that friendly with Henry.

As was increasingly the case, thinking of his unexpected new ranch hand caused a stirring in Red’s loins.  Of late, he’d had to wait until he was out working on the fence to take care of those stirrings, but for once he had the cabin to himself and besides, it was always a good idea to take the edge off before he went to a dance.  Otherwise, he risked being driven to hasty actions by the unbearable anticipation of earthly delights.

It took just a few strokes to bring him up to full hardness.  He closed his eyes as he continued to leisurely stroke himself, letting his mind flip through a few of his fantasies.  He stopped on one of his favorite and slid down as far as he could in the tub as he pictured Henry mucking out the stalls. 

In his mind, Henry had gotten a tear in one of his new pairs of trousers.  Since Red hadn’t gotten around to teaching Henry how to mend his clothes yet, the once-small tear had widened to a significant hole that gaped open every time Henry bent over to scrape away the last of the dirty straw.  Red paused at the door of the barn and caught a glimpse of shadowy movement through the gaping fabric.

Red adjusted himself as Henry broke open a new bale of straw and began scattering it over the floor of the stall.  The extra movement made the fabric tear a bit further, revealing Henry’s remarkable balls and Red straightened.  Slowly he made his way into the barn, moving silently over the floor until he was close enough to reach out and grip Henry by the hips.

Henry started, as he often seemed to do, dropping the pitchfork.  “What the –” he started to say, but he stopped when Red tightened his grip.

“Hands and knees,” Red said, his voice gruff with arousal.

Henry gulped audibly and slid down to his knees in the bed of clean straw.  He only hesitated a second before bending forward to put the weight of his upper body on his hands.

“Good boy,” Red murmured, eyeing Henry lanky body with approval.  “Very, very good.”

Without rushing, Red knelt down behind Henry, letting the tension build as he considered the hole in the seat of Henry’s pants.  It was nicely placed, but it could be improved.  With a wrench, Red ripped the pants wide open, baring Henry’s balls and ass.

Henry whimpered at the sound of the tearing fabric, but made no move to get away as Red rubbed his hands over the smooth skin of Henry’s butt.  The whimpering turned to keens as those hands moved lower to fondle his balls and to grasp his rock-hard cock.

“Oh, you’re ready for it, aren’t you boy?” Red said, giving the cock a couple swift jerks.  Henry let out a choked cry.

Red smiled wolfishly and unbuttoned his fly.  The pre-come on his cock gleamed in the sunshine pouring in through the open barn doors and he rubbed the head of his cock over Henry’s asshole to spread the moisture around before putting one hand on the small of Henry’s back.  “Get ready,” he said and, without any further preliminaries or preparation, he shoved himself in to the root.

Henry wailed and fell forward as his elbows collapsed, dropping his face and chest to the ground.  Red gripped Henry’s hips tightly and began to move, savoring the way each thrust shoved Henry through the straw until his nose was brushing the wooden floor of the barn.

Reaching forward with one hand, Red grasped Henry’s cock, which was soaking wet.  “You love this, don’t you boy?” Red said roughly.  “You love being used by me.”  Red leaned forward and increased the pace of his thrusts as he whispered harshly, “Remember that you belong to me now, boy.  Your ass is mine to use as I see fit, and I’ll fuck you as hard and as often as I please.  By the time I’m done with you, your ass will be as well used as a two-bit whore’s cunt.”

With a mighty heave, Red pulled Henry upright, savoring the moment when Henry’s weight dropped his body even further down onto Red’s cock.  Henry’s head rolled back onto Red’s shoulder and he groaned as Red began jerking his cock in earnest.

“You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” Red said into Henry’s ear.  “You’d love to be my own personal whore.  My bitch.  My slut.”

Henry howled and came all over Red’s hand and a half second later Red followed –

– only to remember at the last second that he was going to be sharing the bathwater.  He did his best to catch the come in his hand, but a few drops slipped into the water. 

“Shit.”  Hopefully, Henry wouldn’t notice.

Wiping off his hand with the washcloth, Red leaned back into the water again, enjoying the warmth spreading through his body, despite the cooling water.  He really did enjoy that fantasy, even if it probably wasn’t feasible in real life, if only for the fact that Henry’s pants had disappeared halfway through.  Still, with a bit of preparation and Henry’s cooperation ... well. 

A grin spread over Red’s face as he picked up the bar of soap and began scrubbing.

~~~

For some reason, Henry looked nervous as he rode beside Red on the way to the McNally ranch.  “Are you all right?” Red asked when Henry clenched his reins so hard his horse started to rear. 

“Fine,” Henry said tightly.  “I’m fine.”

Red reached out and took Henry’s reins.  “Loosen up,” he said gently.  “It’s bad for the horse to hold the reins this tight.”

Henry let go of the reins with a guilty expression.  “Hyperion,” he said, sitting back in his saddle.  “His name is Hyperion.”

Red raised an eyebrow.  “It takes balls to name another man’s horse.”  Which, Red had to admit, Henry had in spades.

Henry looked incredulous.  “You mean the horse that you didn’t bother to name?”

That was good.  Incredulous was better than terrified.  Still, Red was curious.  “What’s got you so worked up?”

“What makes you think I’m worked up?” Henry asked.

Red looked down pointedly at his reins.  “You mean, aside from the fact that you were clutching these like you were trying to strangle them?”

Henry sat rigid for another moment before slumping in his saddle.  “I’ve never been to a dance before.”

Red stared.  “Never?”

“My parents were Methodist missionaries.  They didn’t approve of dancing.”

Red blinked a couple of times, absorbing that tidbit.  He wouldn’t have pegged Henry for a spiritual man.  “There’s a church in town,” Red offered.  “Several of them.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Henry said.  “I haven’t been to church much since my parents died.”

The silence stretched.  “We could go back,” Red offered, though there was no way he was going to skip this dance.  It would be the last one of the season, unless the Perdues invited the entire town to Missy’s wedding party.  Red wasn’t likely to be invited any other way.

“No, I need to do this.  Besides,” he added doubtfully, “I might have fun.”

“You will have fun,” Red said in a rush of relief.  “I’ll make sure of it.”

Henry smiled shakily.  “Thanks, Red.  I appreciate it.”

“Not a problem,” Red said, slapping Henry on the back.  “Now, ease off those reins.  Hyperion deserves better.”

“Yeah,” Henry said, his smile getting stronger.  “He does.”

~~~

As was usual with their post-harvest dance, the McNally’s corn field was full of wagons.  A temporary corral off to the side contained a veritable herd of animals, promising a delightful crowd of potential dance partners.  Red led Henry over to the corral and let the horses in, then strode off in the direction of the shouting and the music, trusting Henry to follow.

If pressed, Red would choose the McNally dance as his favorite of the year.  Admittedly, the fact that the dance occurred in the daylight required a certain level of discretion in his indulgences.  However, that bit of finagling was nothing compared to the sheer numbers that attended the dance.  Nearly a hundred people were crowded around the front lawn, most of them encircling the food tables that made the McNally dance such a popular destination.  Food was rarely provided at a dance, and Red could identify the folks who were new in town by their picnic hampers.  There were just a handful of them, and they had clustered on the far side of the lawn, their quilts so close together that they looked like a single blanket for the families to sit on.  There appeared to be at least a few women in the group, so there was no risk of the newcomers being isolated; every woman in sight would have far more offers of dance partners than they had dances.  A few of the men around the food tables were already looking that direction.

Red himself would make a token request to Gertrude McNally and afterwards stick to the male dancers.  With such a large crowd and so few women, no one would question why he wasn’t making more of an effort to secure a female partner.

The dust in the air grew thick as he and Henry approached the food tables.  It would only get worse, Red knew; there had been talk of building a wooden platform for the harvest dance to keep the dust down, but thus far it didn’t seem worth the cost when the platform would be only used for a single day each year.  Red didn’t mind; the concealing cloud of dust was another reason why he so enjoyed this particular dance.

The table groaned under the weight of fresh corn cobs, large loaves of bread, shanks of beef and pork, platters of beets and squash, and a delectable array of fruit pies.  Red heaped food onto a plate and wandered over to a slightly less dusty patch of brown grass to enjoy his repast.  Henry, carrying a much lighter plate and looking a little peaked, followed.

“I didn’t realize country dances were this popular,” Henry mentioned, taking a tentative bite of beet.  He frowned and looked at the beet before swallowing a few times and pushing the rest of the vegetable aside.

Red picked up the discarded food and ate the rest in two bites, relishing its natural sweetness.  “This is the largest one in the area,” he said once he’d swallowed.  “The McNallys have a big ranch and keep a lot of men on a permanent basis.  The dance is a reward for the hands working the fields and for the cowboys who choose to come back after the cattle drive.  The local ranchers are invited because it’s neighborly, and a few families in town are invited to increase the number of female dancers.  Still not enough of them, though, which is why some of the men will be wearing strips.”

Henry nodded.  He still seemed a mite overwhelmed, but he was eating with a good appetite and he was looking around with interest.  “When will the dancing start?”

“Half an hour or so.  Musicians have to eat first.”

Henry perked up at that.  “Musicians?”

“What’d you think we were going to dance to?  Dancing’s no fun without music.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“Still can’t believe you’ve never been to a dance before.  You’re in for a treat.  In fact –” Red glanced over the crowd, thrilled by a sudden stroke of genius.  “Come with me.  I think there’s someone you should meet.”

The musicians were tuning their instruments and the crowd was mingling with intent, making it a challenge to wend their way to the porch of the house.  There sat a half-dozen men dressed in pressed trousers and wearing spotless shirts, and a single woman in the place of honor on top of the porch steps.  “Hello Mrs. McNally,” Red said, putting on his best smile.

“Mr. Redmond, I’m so glad you could make it,” Gertrude McNally answered.  “And I see you brought a guest.”

Red’s smile turned into a grin.  He knew interest when he heard it.  “Yes, ma’am.  Let me introduce Henry Longfellow, my new ranch hand.”

There was a sudden murmuring on the porch.  “My word,” Mrs. McNally said.  “I had no idea Mr. Longfellow was in Montana.  Are you researching a new poem, Mr. Longfellow?  I am a great fan of _Evangeline_.”

Red was starting to think he was missing out by not reading this Longfellow’s work.

“Oh, no, no.  I’m not that Henry Longfellow.  No relation at all, actually.”  Henry smiled prettily and Mrs. McNally blushed.

Red stifled a smile and glanced at Mr. McNally, who was smiling and nodding in the same, blank genial manner he’d been using for the last few years, ever since he was thrown from his prized racing stallion.  The horse had been put down, which Red had always considered a shame.  It wasn’t the horse’s fault that his owner couldn’t ride worth a damn.

Henry and Mrs. McNally had started discussing the merits of _Evangeline_.  Satisfied that his host and his ranch hand were sufficiently occupied, Red went on the prowl.

The dance floor was packed now, with the dozen or so women dancers partnered and a few pairs of men dancing as well.  Red scanned the moving bodies and spotted a familiar yellow mop of hair.  He grinned in anticipation but turned away.  That treat would be saved for the end of the dance, when the setting sun would help mask their activities.

While he was waiting, the bored-looking cowboy at the edge of the crowd would do nicely.  Chris Fraiser only came to these dances for one thing and he always got his fill by the end of the night.  Early on, though, Red knew the pickings were slim.  Not many men were willing to take the risk in the broad light of day.

For Red, that just made the experience better.  It took but a moment to catch Chris’s eye and they exchanged a nod.  Red didn’t bother to hide his grin as he turned for the barn.

The McNally barn was the largest in the county and, as was usually the case on dance night, all of the stalls were filled.  The only exception was the one furthest back, which was used for feed storage.  Red headed to the empty stall with the confidence of many years practice and gave the space a quick check.  There were more bags of feed than usual, but the bare bit of empty floor was clean enough and there was sufficient space for the essentials.  Red could make this work.

He’d just finished his survey when Chris came up.  Like Red, Chris’s trousers were already starting to tent and, without so much as a hint from Red, Chris dropped down to his knees and reached for Red’s fly.

Red felt a sharp twist of anticipation deep in his belly and he batted away Chris’s fumbling hands and made quick work of opening his trousers and reaching inside.

The moment he pulled his cock out, Chris lunged forward, wrapping his lips around the swollen purple head.  Red grunted and fell back against the nearest pile of feedbags, letting them support his weight for a moment till his wobbly knees recovered.

Then Chris made an impatient noise, so like a horse’s neigh that the nearest animal turned its head and watched them with its big black eyes.  Red forced himself upright and wrapped his hands around Chris’s head, holding him steady as Red began to thrust.

Chris let out a deeply satisfied sounding grumble, his hands falling from Red’s hips and his eyes turning up to stare at Red through thick eyelashes.  Red kept his thrusts shallow for the moment, waiting for just the right moment when …

Chris’s eyes narrowed, and Red grinned and started thrusting deeper and deeper until he went so deep that Chris’s nose was buried in the crinkled hair at the base of Red’s cock.  Red stopped for a moment, savoring the feeling of being balls deep in a man’s throat, before pulling back just an inch and jabbing back and forth a few times, letting his balls smack Chris in the chin.

Finally, he pulled back and felt Chris take a breath around the thick piece of meat lodged in his throat.  Holding Chris’s head tight, Red thrust deep, held for a second, then pulled nearly all the way out.  For several minutes he long-dicked Chris’s throat, enjoying the whimpering sounds Chris made and the way his eyes glazed over.  A glance further down showed Chris’s hand moving rapidly between his own legs and Red slowed down a hair, pacing himself until he heard Chris’s grunt as the hand suddenly stopped moving.

A wave of lust broke over Red.  Tightening his hands around Chris’s head, he began thrusting with abandon, savagely using the mouth below him.  It took less than a minute before he felt his balls tightening and he had to bite down on his own arm to smother the roar that escaped when he shot his release into Chris’s welcoming throat.

For a long moment they stayed where they were, Red curled over Chris, feeling his cock softening in the wet, warm cavern of Chris’s mouth.  He couldn’t stay there forever, though, so Red pulled back with a reluctant sigh, enjoying the last few licks Chris gave him, leaving Red’s cock spit-shined.

Leaning back against the feedbags, Red leisurely buttoned up his trousers, watching as Chris put himself to rights.  Chris’s lips were puffy and red and Red desperately wanted to claim them in a kiss.  Unfortunately Chris wasn’t one for kissing, so Red instead offered, “Dance?”

“I’m not wearing the strip,” Chris said, and Red felt a thrill at the rough hoarseness in Chris’s voice.

“I’ll wear one,” Red said easily.  It wasn’t something he usually did, because men who wore the strips on a regular basis stirred up gossip, but it was nice once in a while to not have to worry about how much attention he was offering the ladies.  No one expected a man wearing the strip to ask a lady to dance.

The rest of the dance passed in a blur of stamping feet, laughter, and the sound of an exuberant fiddle.  Red partook of the refreshments a time or two, kept a weather eye on Henry, who seemed to be enjoying himself from his spot by Gertrude’s side, and danced until his body was heavy with sweat and dust and his blood sang to the sound of the music.

The whole afternoon long he felt anticipation pooling in his gut and even a quick, furtive exchange of handjobs with Hank Marrow behind the barn did little to ease the flame roaring higher and higher in Red’s groin.  The moment the sun kissed the top of the big oak tree behind the McNally house, Red cut off his strip and looked around for a familiar tow-headed man.  The moment he spotted his prey, he pushed his way in that direction and arrived just in time to cut off Hank, who scowled but obligingly turned back.  Red easily dismissed Hank from his mind; he’d get his turn later.

“Is it time?” a soft voice asked, and Red beamed down at Mark Tanner, who looked nothing at all like his blacksmith brother George.  All thin limbs and delicate features, Mark was the most obvious Mary in the town of Copper Creek.  It might’ve caused more problems than it did if he hadn’t been such a talented carpenter, but people came from a hundred miles around for Mark’s work and that afforded him a degree of protection.

Still, that was no reason to take unnecessary chances.  Red waited until the sun was mostly behind the tree, covering the surrounding area in shadows, before jerking his head for the barn.  “You ready?”

“I’ve been ready for weeks now,” Mark breathed and they exchanged a commiserating smile.  There were only three or four dances a year that were large enough to gather together all of the men in town who preferred their own, and the McNally’s was the only one that afforded a significant measure of privacy.  At the other dances, they had to satisfy themselves with the rare opportunity to touch each other in public as they moved through the line of the square dace and, later in the evening, they might risk a quick tumble behind the shelter of a tree or in the dubious protection of an alcove on a well-traveled path.

Even that was better than the rest of the year, when they had to make their own opportunities, always with the knowledge that someone might be watching, weighing the validity of their excuse.  Red himself went through more wheel spokes than a ranch ten times his size, and he always counted the days to lambing season, when he could legitimately hire Hank on for a few weeks.

Such thoughts threatened to derail Red’s enjoyment of the evening, so he pushed them aside as he took a roundabout route back to the barn.  Mark, who had made his own path, was already waiting in the back stall when Red arrived.  “You bring the grease?” Red asked thickly.  His cock jumped up as eagerly as if it hadn’t already been sated three times that day.

“Got something better,” Mark said with a wicked grin.  He dropped his pants and turned around to bend himself over the smaller pile of feed sacks.  Red gulped at the sight of those pale cheeks, split by a dark brown circle.

“What the hell?” Red breathed, touching the circle.  It looked and felt like wood, and when he traced the edge of the circle, Mark shuddered.

“Pull it out,” Mark said, his voice shaking.

Fascinated, Red gripped the edges of the circle and pulled back firmly.  There was a moment of resistance before the wood began to slide out.  And out and out.  The stick was curved and thick, almost the size of three of Red’s fingers pushed together, and as Red pulled the shaft free, the edges of Mark’s anus pulled out slightly, as if reluctant to let the wood go.

“Fuck me,” Red said reverently, rubbing the rounded tip of the wooden cock over the puffy red edges of Mark’s asshole.  Mark let out a sound that was somewhere between a whine and a whimper.

“I made it,” Mark said, as if there could be any doubt.  “I wanted to be ready for you.”

And ready he was – Mark’s hole was shiny from grease and still gaping open slightly from the wooden cock.  “You want me to fuck you?” Red asked.

Mark whimpered and nodded.

“You want me to take you like a ewe in heat?”

Mark keened and shifted his legs until they were as wide as they could go with his pants around his ankles, hobbling him.

“You have to say it,” Red growled.  “I want you to say it.”

“Please,” Mark breathed.  “Please, Red, fuck me.  Use me.  Make me your bitch.  Fill me up and –”

Red wrapped a hand over Mark’s mouth and lined up his cock with his other hand.  With a savage thrust, Red jammed his entire cock in with one push.

Mark howled, the sound safely muffled by Red’s hand, and shoved back so hard that Red almost lost his balance.  Reaching into his pants for his handkerchief, Red forced the cloth into Mark’s mouth and then used his hands to hold Mark’s hips down with an iron grip.   With fierce thrusts, Red pounded into Mark’s ass, each push extracting a little muffled cry until Mark was sobbing into the feed bag, his hands curled up into fists and bumping against the wooden side of the stall in time with Red’s thrusts.

“You’ll come on my cock or you won’t come at all,” Red growled, angling his thrusts until Mark’s cries suddenly shot up an octave.  Grinning like a madman, Red hit that spot over and over again until Mark’s back arched and his entire body froze.

Red kept on fucking Mark right through the orgasm.  Once Mark’s body had slumped back down on the feed bags, Red hauled his hips back a bit further and began thrusting with wild abandon, savagely pounding into Mark’s ass.  It only took a few more minutes before he was coming as hard as he ever had in his life, a roar of satisfaction barely trapped behind his clenched teeth.

For a few moments Red enjoyed the aftermath, but every second that passed was a second closer to the end of the dance, so he reluctantly straightened up and pulled out from Mark’s body.

Mark made a breathy sound that might’ve been a hiss but for the cloth still crammed into his mouth.  Red checked to make sure he hadn’t damaged anything in his enthusiasm, but Mark was intact, if a bit red and puffy.

“I’m fine,” Mark said, and Red looked up to see his handkerchief sitting on the feed back next to Mark’s head.  “You’d better go on now.  Hank’ll be waiting.”

Red smiled fondly and leaned in for a quick kiss before using his now-damp handkerchief to clean off his cock.  “You know, one of the spokes of my wagon is starting to look a bit splintered.”

Mark grinned.  “I’m happy to come out any time you need repairs.”

Red opened his mouth to arrange a time in the very near future, already anticipating the chance to be as loud as he wanted to as he fucked into Mark, when he froze.  “Damn it.”

Mark abruptly stood up.  “What?  What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing.  I just forgot for a moment that I took on a ranch hand.”

“Oh,” Mark said, looking surprised.  “You mean a permanent arrangement?”

It was clear from the tone of his voice what kind of arrangement he was imagining.  Red shook his head.  “Just needed a hand around the place and he needed a job.”

They contemplated that as precious seconds ticked by.  “Maybe you could send him off to work on the fence?” Mark offered hopefully.

Red thought of putting Henry in charge of the fence and winced.  “I’ll work something out,” he promised.  “For now, enjoy the rest of your night.”  He kissed Mark one last time and finished putting his clothes to rights before heading back down between the stalls.  He wasn’t even halfway through the barn when Hank passed him.

As Red got near the door to the outside world, he heard the faint sound of skin slapping against skin.  A moment later a rhythmic grunting filled the air.  He hurried on, but it was already too late: his cock, which should have been exhausted by the activities of the day, was taking interest.

“Damn it,” he murmured as he stepped outside where Jack Bannon and David Taylor were loitering with intent.  Neither one would be interested in a dalliance with Red at the moment, not with Mark just a few feet away.  That just left Chris, who had never expressed an interest in Mark’s charms; hopefully he hadn’t left for the night.

Before Red had a chance to look, however, Henry emerged from the crowd, looking sweaty and exhausted.  “There you are,” Henry said.  “I’ve been looking all over for you.”

Red took in the dark smudges under Henry’s eyes and the way Henry swayed on his feet, as if he was having a tough time just standing upright.  With a sigh, Red let go of his plan to find Chris and wrapped an arm around Henry’s shoulders.  Henry immediately slumped against Red’s side.  “Ready to go?”

“Yes, please,” Henry said, with feeling.

Red allowed himself one more squeeze, then let Henry go and gave him a gentle shove.  “Go saddle up the horses, then.”  Henry looked back uncertainly, but Red just gave him a firm nod.  “I’ll be right behind you.”

With one last glance, Henry headed off in the direction of the corral.  Red glanced over at Jack and David, who were watching Henry’s departing back with interest.  Red felt a startling surge of protectiveness at the sight, and he had to fight to keep his voice calm as he said, “Sorry, fellas, I don’t think he’s interested.”

“You don’t know for sure?” David asked, his bright blue eyes sharpening.

“Man that pretty, ain’t no way he’s only interested in ladies,” Jack drawled.  “Bend him over a table and I bet he figures that out right quick.”

Red fought down a sudden burst of rage.  “No one lays a hand on him,” he gritted out.  “You hear me?”

Both David and Jack looked startled, but David nodded immediately and Jack followed a few seconds later.  “Make sure the others know,” Red added as he walked away, suddenly feeling an overpowering need to have Henry safely in his line of sight.


	5. Chapter 5

Despite his expectations, Henry had quite enjoyed himself at the McNally dance.  Gertrude McNally had appeared ready to adopt him on the spot, even after Henry explained that he had found work at Red’s ranch, which she had seemed to consider worrisome for some unexplained reason.  She had pressed upon him to come to her if he was in need of any assistance, a promise he had been happy to give, though he doubted he’d ever need to make use of her kindness.

Back on the ranch, he found himself even more busy than he had been before, as all the rest of the garden vegetables finished ripening at the same time and had to be canned, the cabin and barn had to be prepared for winter, and massive stores of firewood had to be put up to season.  Red also taught Henry how to sew, as expected, and thus Henry found himself with all of the mending on top of his other chores.

With so much work at hand, Henry dropped into bed exhausted each night, and had to struggle to get up each morning.  Red seemed to be getting worn down as well, though unlike Henry, who got quiet and passive when tired, Red’s exhaustion expressed itself in snappishness and irritability, and more than once Red stormed out of the cabin to spend half an hour or more alone in the barn.  Henry wondered if he should follow, but opted to stay in the cabin for fear of imposing more than he was already doing with his very presence.

At other times, however, Red seemed to crave Henry’s company, inviting him along to inspect the herds or to work on the fence.  Most of the time Henry opted to stay behind and focus on his own chores, which were liable to get out of hand if not closely attended to, but he at least knew what sheep looked like up close now, and he had seen the new pasture that Red was fencing in.

One day, a few weeks after the dance, Red took down the rifle that typically hung over the door and meticulously cleaned it while Henry tidied up the breakfast dishes.  “Expecting trouble?” Henry asked, wondering if he should be worried.

“Not unless there’s a mountain lion,” Red said cheerfully.  “We’re going hunting.”

Henry stared at him, unsure which word to address first, ‘hunting’ or ‘we’.  “Hunting for what?” he finally asked.

“Deer.  Elk, if we’re lucky.  Rabbit, if nothing else.”

On the one hand, Henry wouldn’t mind a break from mutton, which he’d learned to tolerate, if not to enjoy.  On the other hand, he wasn’t at all sure that venison would be an improvement.

“It’s mostly for the dogs,” Red added unexpectedly.  “They can find plenty of rabbits and field mice in the spring and summer, but pickings start to get slim in the fall and winter.  It’s important to make sure they aren’t so hungry that they go for the sheep.”

Henry stared at him in horror.  “They’d kill the flock?”

Red laughed.  “Well, no, probably not.  Certainly not more than one or two ewes before I’d catch them at it.  They would have to be put down, though.  Once a dog gets a taste for sheep, it’s ruined for farm work.”

“Oh,” Henry said, a little appalled.  He’d been surprised when Red had told him that the dogs in each herd stayed with the sheep year-round, with no human supervision.  Red had explained that the dogs had been raised with the sheep, and so viewed the sheep as their family.  The very thought that those dogs could turn around and eat the animals they’d been raised with – it made Henry shudder.  “Will we be hunting all winter, then?”

“Hopefully not.  Right now the deer are fat with summer feasting.  Once the snow starts to fall, the animals get leaner and their meat gets tougher.”

“Do the dogs care about that?”

“Nope, but I do.  Now go and get the saddlebags.  We’ll want to pack some lunch.”

As it turned out, Henry’s role in the hunt was to bring Hyperion to wherever Red managed to bring down an animal and to keep the animal calm despite the smell of blood.  This was not a particularly satisfying job, and having lived with Red for the better part of a month, Henry took the risk of saying so out loud.

“You’re welcome to dress the carcasses,” Red said, offering up a blood drenched knife.

Henry, who’d been studiously looking away from the deer at his feet, felt the blood drain from his face.  Dropping Hyperion’s reins, he ran to the nearest tree and retched.

“Thought not,” Red said, sounding amused.  “Don’t worry, you’ll be plenty busy tonight.  The hunt is the easy part.”

Truer words were never spoken.  The sun had passed its zenith when they returned to the ranch, two deer and a half-dozen rabbits slung over Hyperion’s back.  Henry was already sweating heavily from having to carry his saddle back from where Red had brought down the second deer, and his stomach was roiling from the smell of blood.

At Red’s instruction, Henry put the saddle away and began hauling wood from a special pile of green, non-seasoned wood that Red pointed out.  The wood went into a small, weathered shack behind the barn that Henry had always assumed was an old shed that had outlived its usefulness; he’d had no idea that this was the smokehouse.

Inside the building were a dozen or so metal hooks that danged from the ceiling on short metal chains.  The hooks were arranged around a fire pit that had been cut into the floor of the shed and surrounded by a circle of stones.  There was a layer of ashes on the bottom of the pit, but Red told Henry to ignore them and to pile wood into the circle.

By the time Henry had the fire going, Red had skinned the animals and had begun butchering the meat.  Henry felt his gorge rise again as Red hacked a foreleg off of one of the deer and tossed it aside.  “That’s for the dogs,” Red said in answer to Henry’s unspoken question.  “They’ll get the legs and the offal now.  The rest of the meat is for after the snows.  Here, hang this up close to the fire.”

Henry took the heavy haunch, doing his best not to get covered in blood as he carried it inside and attached it to one of the inner circle of metal hooks.  When that was accomplished, he looked down at his red-stained shirt and resigned himself to doing laundry before bed.

It took the better part of the afternoon before the animals were all butchered and – aside from one rabbit carcass that went directly into the stew pot – hung in the smokehouse.  Henry was so tired that he felt ready to cry with relief when he hung up the last rack of ribs.  There was still laundry to do, of course, but at least the worst of the job was finished.

“I’ll take the remains out to the dogs while you get the laundry started,” Red announced.

Henry managed a smile and nodded.

“Then we can get started on the hides,” Red added.

Henry felt his smile drop off as if it had been cut away.  “Hides?”

Red nodded.  “The rabbit skins will fetch a pretty price in town, and the deer hides make excellent leather.  Most of the work on those will come later in the week, but we can stretch the rabbit furs to dry and start soaking the deer hides.”

Henry relaxed.  That didn’t sound too bad.

“That’ll give us something to do while we wait for the fire to need tending.”  Red clapped Henry on the shoulder, leaving behind a bloody handprint.  “Hope you aren’t too tired – there won’t be much sleep for us tonight!”

Henry whimpered and went to the well to start drawing water.

While the blood-stained laundry was soaking, Henry sat at the table and put his head down.  He’d only meant to close his eyes for a moment or two, but when a gentle hand shook him awake, the cabin was almost dark.  “Red?”

“Got it in one,” Red said, his voice soft, almost tender.  Henry thought he felt a brush of fingers across his cheek, but that must have been his imagination because Red stood back and said in a normal tone of voice, “Sleeping on the job, I see.”

Abruptly Henry bolted upright.  “I’m sorry,” he said, feeling like a cad.  “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  I was just closing my eyes for a second, I pro–”

“It’s all right,” Red said, laughing.  “You’ve had a long day.  Besides, you’ve been a big help already.  Normally I’d have to do all of this myself.”

“I can’t even imagine,” Henry said sincerely.  “You must have the strength and endurance of ten men.”

Red looked remarkably pleased by that statement, despite his shrug.  “If it has to be done, it has to be done.  Speaking of, there’s laundry that needs doing.”

“Right,” Henry said, shoving himself to his feet.  His whole body ached, but he was getting used to that and he ignored it as he went to the wash basin.

“Don’t take too long,” Red added.  “Supper’s almost ready.”

Supper was probably delicious but Henry was too tired to appreciate it.  Every few minutes, he found himself nodding off, until Red finally sent him off to bed.

“I’m sorry,” Henry said, shamed at his weakness.  “I should be able to stay up with you to tend the fire.”

Red just laughed.  “And risk you falling asleep into it?  Don’t worry, I can take care of it.  If you want to make it up to me, though, there’s wood to be chopped tomorrow.”

Henry couldn’t imagine anything that sounded less appealing at that moment, but he just nodded and retreated to the dubious embrace of his pallet. 

~~~

The latter half of the fall was just as busy as the first half.  A week after Red and Henry went hunting, the rams were released into their pastures.  There hadn’t been much for Henry to do, but he stood next to Red and watched as the rams bolted in the direction of their respective flocks.  Red shook his head and explained that each ram would mate several times a day and would lose up to a fifth of its body weight by the end of the breeding season.  Henry had commented that the rams seemed eager for the opportunity and had been pleasantly surprised by Red’s delighted laughter.

The following week was another hunting trip.  This time, Henry managed to stay awake for the entire process, though he slept like the dead afterwards.  Red, who seemed to have boundless energy, announced the next day that he was going to ride into town to sell the rabbit furs from the first hunt and possibly to get a new spoke for the wagon.  Henry offered to join him, but Red had shaken his head immediately and given Henry the day off to do as he wished about the ranch.  Henry had gone straight to bed and slept through till the next morning.

After the trip to town, Red seemed more relaxed about the coming winter.  He spent more time around the cabin, for one thing, working the now tanned and dried deer skins into leather and turning over the vegetable garden in preparation for the winter.  At Henry’s request, they rode into town a couple of times, where Henry spent some of his hard-earned money on books and a new straight razor, so that he could stop borrowing Red’s.  Red himself bought a copy of Longfellow’s _Evangeline_ , to Henry’s bemusement.  “Thought I’d see what all the fuss was about,” Red said when Henry inquired into the purchase.

Two more wagon spokes broke over the next few weeks, which seemed an uncommonly high number considering how rarely the wagon was used.  Red always seemed happy enough to go for replacements, however, and Henry was grateful for the days off, so he kept his thoughts to himself.

It was the middle of November when the first serious snow storm struck, blanketing the ranch with nearly three feet of ice.  Henry, who had spent his entire life in San Francisco, had been fascinated by the stuff.

“Doesn’t it snow by the ocean?” Red asked when he caught Henry staring out the window for the fifth time in an hour.

“Only a couple of times in my childhood,” Henry said wistfully.  “And even then it was usually just a thin layer that didn’t last for long.  Nothing like this.”  He let out a contented sigh.  “I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Wait till February,” Red said pragmatically.  “You’ll be sick enough of the stuff by then.”

It was hard to believe that Henry would ever tire of the snow, but he conceded that Red was probably right.  That didn’t stop him from enjoying the snow now.

Red didn’t take well to the change in weather.  At first he seemed amused at Henry’s obsession with the snow, but by the third day he was downright surly at the slightest hint of wonder expressed in his vicinity.  Henry had no idea what had prompted this change in behavior, but he took extra care not to say too much when Red was nearby and he kept his eyes averted from the windows.

By the fifth day of the storm, even Henry was starting to miss the sun, and Red was downright unbearable.  When the gales that had shaken the cabin finally died down in the middle of the afternoon, Red mentioned going out to clear a path to the barn and maybe to clear the snow from the windows.  Henry supported the idea with rather more enthusiasm than was polite.

As time passed and Red didn’t return, however, Henry began to regret being so open with his frustrations.  It was hard for Henry to remain cooped up in this tiny cabin for days on end; how much harder it must be for Red, with his boundless energy.

Thus it was with thoughts of reconciliation, encouraged by the siren’s call of going outside, that Henry went to look for Red and apologize.  He was amazed to discover that the path to the barn was already cleared; he couldn’t have done half as much in twice the time.  Determined to say as much to Red’s face, Henry pulled open the barn door.  The first thing he saw was Red’s shocked face.  The second was the long, thick manhood currently cupped in Red’s hand.

For what felt like an eternity, neither man said anything.  Henry couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from Red’s groin.  He’d never seen another man’s penis clearly before, had never realized how different it might be from his own.  Longer and thicker, and with a prominent vein running up the bottom, Red’s prick was the most gorgeous thing Henry had ever seen.  He felt his mouth watering at the sight of it, and there was a stirring of interest in his groin.

“Henry?” Red finally said, and he almost sounded concerned.

“Hm?” Henry couldn’t seem to move his eyes upward, not till they’d looked their fill.

“Henry,” Red said again, this time definitely sounding pleased.  “Henry, come here.”

Feeling as if he was moving underwater, Henry stepped forward until he was standing in front of Red.  At the edges of his senses, he heard the wind pick up and he realized that he should be feeling the cold.  He wasn’t, though.  Right now he felt on the verge of burning alive.

Then Red kissed him and Henry’s senses were entirely overwhelmed.  Red’s lips were soft but firm and when they urged Henry’s lips to open, Red’s tongue took possession of Henry’s mouth.  Henry moaned around the intrusion, feeling his own arousal build up to need.

Red ripped his head away and took a deep breath, grinning.  “I’ll be damned.  It looks like Jack was right.”

“Jack?” Henry asked faintly, most of his attention on Red’s spit-shiny lips.

Red laughed.  “It doesn’t matter.”  He ran a thumb over Henry’s bottom lip and Henry shuddered.  Red laughed again, and this time it was a dark, dirty sound.  “On your knees, then.”

Henry frowned, a bit of reason returning to his mind.  On his knees?  That didn’t seem right.

Still, it was clear that Red had far more experience in this arena than Henry did, so when Red pushed down on his shoulder, Henry allowed himself to sink down until he was kneeling on the barn floor.  Considering where this put his face, he wasn’t particularly surprised when Red took hold of his penis and rubbed the head of it over Henry’s lips, leaving behind a stick trail of moisture.

“Open your mouth,” Red ordered.

Part of Henry, a dirty, secret part of him that he tried not to acknowledge, wanted to do as Red ordered.  And he never forgot Red’s words from Henry’s first day on the ranch: _I tell you to do something, you do it.  If you don’t like the jobs I give you, there’s the door.  You can leave anytime._

Henry didn’t want to leave.  He opened his mouth.

“Good,” Red crooned, still rubbing Henry’s lips with the soft, spongy head of his penis.  “That’s good.  I’m going to push in now.  Be careful of your teeth.”

Henry tried to nod, but found his mouth abruptly full and he had to struggle not to let his teeth accidentally graze anything.  The tip of Red’s penis rubbed against the top of Henry’s mouth.  It was smoother than Henry expected, almost like velvet.

“You’re doing great,” Red said.  “Now, hold still and try to relax.”  With that, Red grabbed Henry’s head in both hands and began to thrust.

Henry didn’t like having his head held like that, not even in the secret dark parts of himself, but he firmly reminded himself _no arguing_ and forced himself to stay still, though he clenched his hands into fists at his sides.  Thankfully Red’s thrusts didn’t go very deep, though there were a couple of times when Henry couldn’t help but gag.

“Tighten your lips,” Red said, sounding a little out of breath.  “Just your lips, not your teeth.”

Henry obediently pressed his lips down.

“Good boy.  Now, pretend that’s your mama’s teat and suck as hard as you can.”

While that imagery left much to be desired, Henry put his best effort forth into sucking and was rewarded with a tiny squirt of salty bitterness.  He nearly gagged again, this time from the taste, when Red suddenly pulled out of Henry’s mouth and started jerking on his penis.  A second later he came, splattering white fluid all over Henry’s face and hair.

As Henry stared, appalled, Red bent over at the waist, panting.  “Not bad,” he said.  “We’ll make a first rate cocksucker out of you.”

At that moment, Henry couldn’t imagine anything more horrifying.

“But first,” Red said, dropping down to his knees and thrusting his hand into Henry’s pants without warning, “let’s take care of you.”

Henry gasped as Red’s large hand nearly engulfed his manhood.  His penis, which had flagged when Red had grabbed Henry’s head, suddenly stood taller, lengthening as Red’s hand warmed up in the confined space.  With so little room to move, Red’s pulls were necessarily short, but Henry had never been touched there by a hand beside his own and it took an embarrassingly short time before he achieved his climax.

“There now,” Red said, pulling out his hand and licking it clean. 

Henry shuddered as the image forced an aftershock from his body.

“Getting cold?” Red asked sympathetically.  “We should probably go inside.  The storm looks like it’s getting ready for another round.”

Feeling like someone else was controlling his body, Henry felt his head turn.  Sure enough, the clouds were getting darker.

“Are all snowstorms this bad in Montana?” he heard himself ask.

Red shrugged.  “We get ‘em sometimes.  When they last this long, it’s usually two or three storms coming right in a row.  It’s not so much the snow storms you need to worry about, though, not if you have shelter.  It’s what comes after the snow has fallen.”

Henry just stared at Red expectantly.

“The cold,” Red added after a moment of silence.  “The cold is what can kill you.”

“What about the sheep?”

“That’s what the wool is for,” Red said cheerfully.  “And all of the pastures have sheltered areas where the snow won’t get so deep.  A few might die if it gets too cold or if the snow gets too high, but most of the herd will be fine.”

That seemed a terribly callous attitude, but Red had explained his hands-off method of ranching before, so Henry forbore from commenting.  Honestly, it was hard to muster much of a real interest in sheep anyway, as his mind was so caught up in the changed circumstances between him and Red.

The maelstrom of his thoughts continued as Henry followed Red down the path back to the cabin, and it kept on as Red set him down at the table and fed him.  Red didn’t seem to notice that Henry was quieter than usual as he ate his mutton and beans, just carried the conversation for the both of them, his volubility a full about-face from his surly taciturnity just a few hours before.

Henry, still feeling exposed and a little raw, helped with the dinner dishes and then went to the bedroom.  He was about to settle into his own pallet – certainly colder now at this time of year, but blessedly his own – when Red stepped into the room and ordered him to the bed.  “No reason for you to be shivering anymore, now is there?” Red asked as he stripped down to his long johns and slid into the bed after Henry.

Henry managed a non-committal noise and said nothing else as Red gathered him up and tucked him close, his chest snuggled up against Henry’s back.

Henry hadn’t felt so warm in weeks, and it was easy to close his eyes and let himself slide off into sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Red woke up feeling like a thousand bucks.  And why shouldn’t he?  He was warm and cozy in his bed, and his cock, hard as it usually was in the mornings, nestled between a pair of pert ass cheeks.  Red couldn’t help but rock forward a couple of times, cursing the long johns, thin as they were, and wishing Henry was awake to partake in the sharing of some fleshy delights.

Of course, that thought brought yesterday’s encounter to the front of Red’s mind and he moaned in pleasure as he remembered the way Henry’s lips had quirked as he’d settled down on his knees, the sultry look in Henry’s eyes as he’d stared up through his lashes.  The feel of Henry’s mouth on Red’s cock as he sucked for the first time.  The shocked pleasure in his eyes as Red came over his face.

Admittedly, it wasn’t a perfect blowjob.  Frankly, Red thought there was a good possibility that it had been Henry’s first.  Still, to take a man’s cock into his mouth for the first time and never even have an accidental hint of teeth?  The man was clearly a natural.  He’d be a natural at fucking, too, of that Red had no doubt.

Still, as appealing as a morning romp sounded, there were chores to be done.  Besides, Red told himself firmly, breaking in a virgin would take time.  If he rushed things, he ran the risk of turning Henry off the idea of fucking forever, and that would be a damn shame.

With that thought in mind, Red rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen to pull out the bacon.  If things went the way he hoped, he’d need the extra grease sooner rather than later.

Unfortunately, Mother Nature had other plans.  They were finishing up their breakfast when Henry stopped and cocked his head to the side.  “Do you hear that?”

Red listened, but he couldn’t hear anything and said so.

“Exactly,” Henry said.  “No wind.”

True enough.  “It might still be snowing,” Red warned, not wanting Henry to get his hopes up too high.  After this many days, the storm probably was over, but anything was possible this time of year.

Henry didn’t even seem to hear the words as he bolted down the rest of his food and hurried to the door.  Red scraped up the last of the yolk on his plate with a bit of bread and stuffed it into his mouth before following.

Sure enough, the snow had stopped, leaving behind a vast blanket of untouched snow.

“It’s beautiful,” Henry breathed, sounding awed.

“It is,” Red agreed gruffly.  He’d forgotten how beautiful snow could be, till he had the chance to see it through Henry’s eyes.  “You want to go out and explore?”

Henry looked down at his feet ruefully.  He was wearing the sturdy oilskin boots that he’d purchased in his latest trip to town, but the pants hanging above the boots were the same canvas trousers that Red had purchased for him on that first day.  “I’m afraid I don’t have the clothes for it.”

Red scoffed.  “Clothes are clothes.  There’s nothing special about winter, except how long it’ll take your trousers to dry.  If you’re careful, though, you shouldn’t get wet at all with these.”  Henry looked at the snowshoes that Red handed him with bafflement.  Red couldn’t see why; the shoes had been hanging on the wall of the cabin since Henry had arrived.

“What are they?” Henry asked, turning the wooden hoops over and over in his hand.

“Snowshoes,” Red said incredulously.  “You’ve never seen snowshoes before?”

“Not much snow in San Francisco,” Henry reminded him.

Henry had mentioned that, but Red still had a difficult time believing that Henry hadn’t seen snowshoes before.  Everyone in Copper Creek had a pair or two; Red himself had gotten his first pair when he was only three.  “Come on,” he said, pushing Henry into a chair and showing him how to strap the snow shoes to the bottom of his boots.  “I’ll teach you how to use them.”

The rest of the morning was a study in exasperation and amusement as Henry took to snowshoeing with all the grace of a fish to flying.  Again and again, he managed to get his feet tangled together and he spent more time fallen over in the snow than he did standing upright.

“I’m never going to get this,” he said after an hour, sounding dejected and miserable.

“You will,” Red said, though privately he was starting to have his doubts.  “It just takes time.”

Henry looked incredulous and kind of pathetic, like a wet kitten.  Red took pity.  “Why don’t you go inside and get changed?  You’ll catch your death standing out here like that.”

Henry looked grateful to the point of tears and wasted no time retreating back to the cabin.

He fell twice along the way.

Red shook his head, smiling.  Really, it was amazing how physically inept Henry could be.  He was a hard worker, though; with him taking over nearly all of the day-to-day chores of the ranch, Red had managed to nearly finish fencing in his fifth pasture, a full two years ahead of schedule.  That level of progress was cheap at twice the price.  Mix in the prospect of a warm body on cold nights, and Red blessed the day that he’d found Henry lying half-dead on his land.

His mood improved dramatically when he went into the cabin to find Henry standing by the stove, naked as the day he was born.

“I didn’t have any clean clothes left,” Henry said through shuddering teeth.  “I haven’t been able to do laundry because of the snow.”

“It’s fine,” Red said graciously.  “You’re freezing, though.  You should get back in bed.”

Henry looked deeply suspicious.  “I don’t think I have enough warmth for that to do me any good.  I’m cold to the core.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you.”

Henry stayed where he was, shaking so hard his knees were knocking.

Red rolled his eyes.  “Bed.  Now.”

An odd look of rebellion passed over Henry’s face, but it was gone so quickly that Red wasn’t sure if he’d imagined it.  A second later, Henry was making his way to the bedroom, his arms wrapped tight around his body and his breath hissing through clenched teeth.

Red shook his head in amusement and went to the corner of kitchen where he kept a small pot of triple-strained grease.  Each pass through the cheese cloth removed more bits of bacon and took away some of the scent, and by the end of the third straining the grease was perfectly smooth and nearly odorless.  It took too much time and effort for normal cooking lard, but was worth every second when it came to intimacies.

When he arrived into the bedroom, Henry was lying under the covers.  He was also on his stomach, rather than on his side as he usually slept, and Red’s heart warmed at the trust inherent in the position.  His cock reacted predictably in anticipation and Red wasted no time in stripping down and sliding into the bed.  He didn’t immediately reach for Henry’s ass.  They had time and, besides, it would be hard for Henry to relax enough when he was shaking with cold.

For a long time they just lay there entwined in the bed.  Henry made no move to touch Red, but he also made no protest as Red lazily stroked his hands over Henry’s body.  Here was Henry’s chest, filling out now that he was working his body instead of just his mind.  Here, his stomach, the muscles just starting to take shape.  Here his arms, the skin dark from the elbow down, but nearly white at the shoulder, because no matter how much Red laughed at him for it, Henry refused to take off his shirt when he worked.

As Henry’s body warmed and Red’s exploration continued, Henry began to relax into the touches, even to move up to meet them.  Red’s hands grew bolder, reaching down to run fingers through the coarse hair at the base of Henry’s cock, to weigh his balls in the palms of Red’s hand.

Henry gasped and arched as Red fondled his balls and he made a keening noise when Red took hold of his cock.  Red grinned at the sound and began to stroke, relishing every last whimper and stifled curse he pulled from Henry’s body.

When Henry’s noises started increasing in urgency, however, Red reluctantly slowed his hand and then removed it all together.  He didn’t want Henry to spend himself, not like this.  Shushing Henry’s protests, Red nudged the man’s shoulder until he rolled over onto his stomach again.  The sheets of the bed had slipped lower as Red had played and now were far enough down the bed to show off Henry’s pert, beautifully rounded ass.  Red took each one of those milky white cheeks in his hand and squeezed, just because he could.

Henry tensed at the squeeze, and then relaxed as Red let go.  Clearly he was too worked up to take any more teasing, so Red reached down to the pot he’d left on the floor and dug his fingers into the stark white fat.

When he’d gathered enough, he sat back up to see that Henry was trembling with anticipation.  Deciding that further teasing would simply be torture for the other man, Red wasted no more time.  Quickly coating his index finger, he plunged it into Henry’s body until his palm was flat against Henry’s ass.

Henry positively _wailed_ at the intrusion.  Red wasn’t surprised; Henry was tight, even tighter than Red had imagined, and he could see the edges of Henry’s asshole spasm as it struggled to accommodate Red’s thick finger.  Red waited patiently, however, and was rewarded with a slight loosening of the muscle.  Moving carefully, he began to twist his finger around.  As the muscle loosened further, Red began to move his finger in and out, slowly at first and then with increasing force.

When Henry felt loose enough, Red added a second finger and then, eventually, a third.  Henry was pushing back Red’s hand at this point and Red didn’t have to reach under to know that Henry’s cock was weeping with need.

Satisfied that Henry was ready, Red slathered grease onto his cock and positioned himself behind Henry’s prone body.  “Hang on,” he said roughly, grasping Henry’s hips tightly with greasy hands.  “This is going to hurt.”

Henry’s arms, currently cushioning his head, tensed, and his hands curled into fists.  He didn’t make any protest, though, so Red lined up his cock and started to push in slowly.

Judging from Henry’s choked off sobs, Red’s cock hurt quite a bit.  Red didn’t stop, knowing if he did that Henry would only remember the pain of this experience without understanding the pleasure of it.  Eventually he wouldn’t even feel the pain anymore; Mark had confided in Red that he sometimes missed that bite that could give such a delicious edge to his pleasures.

Finally, Red was buried balls deep in Henry’s body, and he paused for a moment, savoring the heat and the tightness while giving Henry a chance to get used to the feeling of a cock up his ass.  He only had the patience for a moment or two before he had to move, and he groaned as he pulled out of Henry’s body, feeling the wet heat cling to his cock as if Henry didn’t want to let him go.

In and out, Red moved, over and over, keeping his thrusts slow and steady until he felt Henry’s body begin to move with his, pushing back to meet Red’s thrusts.  Red immediately picked up the pace, fucking Henry harder and faster until Henry’s cries reached a familiar pitch.  Reaching over, Red slid his hand between Henry’s body and the bed and with a few swift pulls sent Henry right over the edge.

Red had meant to take his time seeking his own peak, but when he felt Henry tighten even further around his cock, he lost all control.  Plunging in like a ram taking a ewe, Red raced toward orgasm.

When the shudders had passed, Red pulled out and checked Henry for damage.  There was redness and swelling, of course – that was inevitable with a man Red’s size – but no tearing or bruising.  Red grunted with satisfaction and flopped over onto his back on the other half of the bed.  He’d planned on saying something reassuring or maybe even praising to Henry, but before he had a chance to say a word, he was asleep.

~~~

The winter that followed was the best of Red’s life.  The difference, of course, was Henry, who took over a good portion of the diminished winter chores and who was now warming Red’s bed every night.  They didn’t fuck every day, but it was near enough to be of no difference, and the only disappointment at all during this time was the fact that Henry never initiated any intimacies.  Still, the fact that he never hesitated at or protested against any activities that Red started made it clear that he was happy with what they were doing.  After some time, Red even learned to pick up the signs that Henry was in the mood for fucking, even if he chose not to say anything about it out loud.

In the end, Red decided that Henry was just shy, which seemed perfectly natural in a late bloomer.  Of course, Red wasn’t overly fond of shyness, so he made it his mission to teach Henry that there was nothing to be ashamed of in their intimacies and no reason for timidity.

Early on, this mission manifested itself in carnal acts taking place all over the cabin and the barn.  Red could still remember how wide Henry’s eyes had gotten when Red had shoved aside their breakfast plates one morning and ordered Henry to lie back on the cleared space.  Still, he’d done has Red has suggested, and no wonder; he’d been sending Red shy glances all that morning, and every time Red had licked his lips, Henry had twitched in anticipation.

Red had given Henry his first cock suck then, taking the time to draw out the act as long as he could.  A couple of times Henry had reached for Red’s head, only to snatch his hands away at the last moment.  Red, amused at Henry’s tentative attempts at control, had finally taken Henry’s hands and pushed them into Red’s hair. 

Henry had immediately gotten more vocal, and his hands clenched tightly.  The result was a bit more pulling than Red was fond of, but he resolved the situation easily enough by finally allowing Henry to come.

Spitting Henry’s spend into the last of the butter, Red had mixed the two together and used the result to open Henry up and then to slick Red’s cock before pushing his way into Henry’s lax body.  Finally, finally, he got to watch how those gorgeous balls jiggled during a good fucking, and the sight was even more satisfying than Red had imagined.  Henry liked it too, judging from how quickly he stiffened up again.

Red had had a delightful idea then and had pulled out of Henry to bend him over the table, leaving his ass fully exposed to ravishing.  Red had taken the implied invitation and had fucked away until Henry was just on the edge of coming.  At that moment, Red had slid his hands under Henry’s chest and pulled him upright, forcing Henry to stand on his toes or risk dangling from where he was impaled on Red’s cock.  In this position, Red finished Henry off, aiming his cock so that Henry’s seed splattered over their used breakfast dishes.

Once Henry was spent, Red pushed him down on the table again and sought his own release.  It didn’t take long.

Later, Red watched as Henry washed his own come off of the dishes, and the bright blush that washed over Henry’s face and neck sent Red’s cock a-twitching.  Knowing that Henry was likely sated for the day, Red had gone to the barn for some time alone. 

Red’s cock had always been a greedy monster; the more attention it received, the more attention it demanded.  The end result was that Red spent more time alone in the barn than he ever had before Henry had come to live at the ranch, but he couldn’t honestly complain.  Henry was clearly being as generous as he could with his affections.

Later in the winter, as cabin fever began to set in, Red grew more inventive.  He started regularly delaying Henry’s orgasms, giving Red time to sate himself two or three times before finally coming with Henry.  That helped with the number of times Red had to go to the barn.  He also started teaching Henry some of the sharper edges of male intimacy.

The latter started when Henry had ruined the better part of a round of roast because he was too busy reading to pay attention to the dinner he was cooking.  Red wasn’t terribly worried at the loss – when he’d planned how much food to store for the winter, he’d doubled the amount he’d normally eat himself and Henry, as it turned out, had only a fraction of Red’s appetite.  Still, Henry had been upset, begging to know what he could do to make it right, and Red had had an idea.

“Drop your trousers,” Red had ordered, sitting on one of the armless hardback chairs that were used at the dining table.  “And come here.”

Henry had looked terrified by the command, but had released his belt and let the trousers fall, as ordered.  Hobbled by the fabric bunched around his ankles, he’d shuffled his way over to Red’s side.  “Lie down,” Red had continued, and the words had Henry so wound up in anticipation that Red had to help the man lie down till he was resting over Red’s knee.  As Red had hoped, this put Henry’s long john-covered butt on perfect display.  Unable to help himself, Red gave that temping mountain a good slap, right through the fabric.

Henry yelped.

Red shuddered in pleasure and smacked Henry again, drawing another delicious noise.  “Now then,” he said as he smoothed his hand over Henry’s ass.  “What did we learn today?”

“Don’t read and –” Henry stuttered and ground to a halt as Red popped open one of the buttons holding up the back flap of the long johns.  Red himself was rather pleased as he’d forgotten that he’d requested long johns with a flap.  It wasn’t a common feature of adult long johns, though you’d be hard pressed to find a child’s pair without them.

“Don’t read and – what?” Red asked, popping open the other button on the flap.

“Don’t read and cook – ah!”

Red lifted his hand to admire the red handprint he’d just placed on Henry’s ass.  “Or you could just let me cook,” he said mildly, before swatting Henry twice in succession.  “It’s not one of your chores.”

“I w-won’t do it again,” Henry said as Red slowly drew a finger up the cleft of his ass.  “I sw – ow!”

“Oh, I know you won’t,” Red said, over the sound of his smacks.  “Not when I’m done with you.”

He paddled Henry for a good five minutes, though much of the time was spent giving Henry a chance to recover before starting again.  By the time Red was done, Henry’s rump was a rosy red color, and he was sobbing quietly.

Red crooned to Henry, telling him how good he was, as he gently moved Henry off of his lap and onto the floor.  Henry didn’t protest at all as Red arranged him so that he was kneeling on the floor with his hands cupped together at the small of his back.  Carefully Red bent Henry over so that his forehead touched the edge of the chair.  The end result was a precarious position that put Henry’s flaming ass on glorious display.

“Can you stay like this for a minute or two?” Red asked, just to be sure.

Henry sniffed and nodded slightly.

Red ran a hand down Henry’s back and was rewarded when Henry arched into the touch.  Moving quickly now, Red strode to the bedroom, where he stripped himself of his own clothes and used the grease by the bed to liberally coat his cock.

Back in the sitting area, he found Henry just as he left him and Red murmured praise as he settled himself behind Henry.  Without warning or preparation, Red pressed the head of his cock against Henry’s ass and began to push in, going slowly to give Henry time to adjust.  Henry sobbed again, but made no protest, and Red kept on pushing until his balls were pressed up against the lower curve of Henry’s butt.

“No touching yourself, now,” Red said quietly but firmly.  “You keep your hands right where they are.  You come on my cock, or you don’t come at all, you understand me?”

Henry let out a small, watery, “Yes.”

Grinning with anticipation, Red pulled out slowly, then slammed back in as hard as he could.

Henry howled.

They fucked that way for the better part of an hour, Red working Henry’s hole till it was red as a cherry.  Red came at least once during that time, but he barely noticed, all of his attention focused on Henry.  He felt almost drunk with Henry’s sounds, from the initial keening whines of pain to the later moans and gasps of pleasure.  Finally Henry’s back arched like a cat and Red looked down to see white seed splattered over the rungs of the chair.

Wild with lust, Red lost all control and pistoned into Henry in a fierce frenzy.  When he came, Red actually felt his vision go a little grey around the edges, and the moment his peak passed, he flopped forward like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

For a long while, he stayed there, delighting in the feel of Henry’s body under his own, in the scent of sex that surrounded them, in whimpering gasps that Henry was still making as he tried to catch his breath.  Red felt replete in a way he never had before, and he was loath to let go of the feeling.

All good things must come to an end, however, and eventually Henry started squirming.  With a regretful sigh, Red sat back up.

“How are you feeling?” he asked Henry, carefully looking him over.  Aside from a red ass and a swollen asshole, Henry looked none the worse for their exertions, and Red sat down on the floor so that he could gather Henry up onto his lap and in his arms.

Henry curled up against Red without protest.  “I’m fine,” he said, still sounding a little wobbly, but not at all distressed.  Red rocked the two of them slightly, humming under his breath and feeling utterly at peace with the world.  Never in his life had he come so hard.  Never in his life had he felt so tender to another man.

It would be too much to imagine that Henry would ever have the confidence to ask for something like _this_ directly, but it would be easy enough to know what Henry was asking for if he ever cooked again.  Red closed his eyes, let the peace wash over him, and hoped against hope that Henry would try to cook very soon.


	7. Chapter 7

If there was one thing that Henry was completely sure of, it was that he was never, ever going to try cooking again.  Ever.  It took over a day before he could even imagine trying to sit down, and he was feeling twinges and aches in his insides for the better part of a week.

The worst of it all was that he couldn’t say that he hadn’t enjoyed himself.  He’d never climaxed so hard and for so long as he had that night, and the time he spent curled up in Red’s arms had ignited a craving to be touched that Henry feared would never quite be extinguished.

If he were honest with himself, which he wasn’t entirely sure he wanted to be, he’d enjoyed most of what Red had done to him during the long Montana winter.  Pleasuring Red with his mouth and being pleasured in turn, lying under the blankets with Red as they copulated slowly and tenderly, even that one crazy time when Red had taken him horseback riding –

_“Here, wear these pants today.”_

_Henry took the trousers and turned them over dubiously.  “They’re too big.”_

_“They’re old ones of mine.  Too small for me anymore.”_

_“And there’s a hole in the seat.”_

_“That’s the best part.”_

– through the snow covered fields –

_“Sit forward now, I’m going to get up behind you.”_

_“Red, what in heaven’s name_ – _why are you opening your pants?”_

_“Lift up now a bit.  A bit higher.  Good, good.  Now, sit back down.”_

_“Augh!  Red!”_

_“What?  You were taking too long.  Now, hold on tight.  We’re going for a ride.”_

– cantering under the big blue Montana sky –

_“Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Fuck!  Fu_ – _”_

_“Ha!  I knew we’d loosen up that city tongue of yours eventually!  Let’s try galloping now!”_

– well, if he were forced to be honest, he had enjoyed that, too, even if he hadn’t been able to look at the black mare for over a week.

At the same time, there were things that Red did that Henry didn’t like.  Henry was quite confident that he’d never learn to like having his head held in place, Red’s language in bed was occasionally disturbing rather than arousing, and Henry hated, _hated_ that he was never allowed to be in control.  Every time Red initiated fornication, every single time, he eventually started giving orders.  And Henry could never forget Red’s proscription on arguing.  Maybe Red had been serious about kicking Henry out for arguing, maybe he hadn’t been.  Either way, Henry wasn’t about to take that chance, not when the snows were still high and the winter wind was cold enough to freeze a man’s spittle before it could hit the ground.

So Henry endured.  He endured it when Red made him wear the torn pants again, this time in the barn.  He endured it when Red pulled out the larger washtub and made Henry climb on top of him in the water.  He endured it when Red tied a leather thong around Henry’s genitals and then proceeded to tease him with his fingers and tongue and penis and even a broken broom handle, until Henry was literally begging for relief.

At the same time, Henry found himself comparing _this_ , whatever _this_ was, to what he had left behind in San Francisco.  Riding in the park with Emmaline.  Attending church with the Hamlin family.  Reading the signed book of Longfellow poetry that Emmaline had given him as an engagement gift.  Certainly a gentler form of romance, but still one that Henry had had no control over.

Even now, with the advantages of hindsight, Henry couldn’t quite figure out how he ended up engaged to Emmaline Hamlin.  He certainly hadn’t intended such a thing – even then he’d known that he felt no physical attraction to the female form.  Yet somehow, less than a month after they’d met, their engagement had been announced in the Examiner.

He did remember how they first met, which was some relief.  He’d been working as an associate in the firm of Hamlin and Hamlin, when Mr. Horatio Hamlin, the senior partner in the firm, had called Henry into his office.  At the time, he’d been worried that he made a mistake in his latest brief and was to be reprimanded.  Instead, he’d been brusquely introduced to Mr. Hamlin’s daughter, Emmaline, and instructed to escort her and her friend – Henry couldn’t even remember the friend’s name – to lunch.  Henry had been very conscious of doing a favor for the senior partner and had been on his absolute best behavior, letting Miss Hamlin control the conversation and even remembering to compliment her on her beauty, which wasn’t difficult to do as she was universally considered the loveliest woman in San Francisco.

The next day, Mr. Hamlin had personally stopped by Henry’s desk to compliment him on his last brief.

After that, the invitations came regularly.  He met with the Hamlins three or four times a week.  Each time he found himself left conspicuously alone with Emmaline for at least a quarter of an hour at a time.  Emmaline seemed to take no notice of the lack of chaperone and Henry had anxiously followed her example, assuming that she had a better idea than he did what was going on.

Three weeks later, their engagement was announced. 

At first, Henry thought it was just a mistake.  He even went to Emmaline to ask her what was going on, but she’d greeted him as a fiancée and in the confusion of the moment he’d lost the opportunity to correct her. 

The month that followed was a disaster.  Henry was promoted to junior partner, disgusting his fellow associates who cried nepotism.  His few acquaintances outside of work waited barely a day after the announcement to share their congratulations and to start telling him tales of financial woe.  Even Emmaline herself, who had seemed quite nice for a woman, turned into a completely different creature once she was officially considered betrothed.  For weeks she spoke of nothing but wedding dresses, cakes and caterers, and the ever-increasing guest list.

Henry had felt trapped in a noose that was drawing ever tighter.  Hamlin spent half of each meal bragging about his influence with politicians and judges in the city.  It was undoubtedly meant to be encouragement, verbal proof of how far Henry would be able to go once he married into the family, but considering Henry’s feelings toward his upcoming nuptials, it felt like a threat.  Mrs. Hamlin started taking Henry around to the neighbors, showing him off while at the same time dropping heavy hints about houses that would soon be on the market.  Emmaline herself kept dragging Henry into dark corners and reassuring him that he could, and should, trust her.  Since the bulk of his experience with the girl was tied to a false betrothal, the repeated, unsought for reassurances felt like warnings.

As the day of the wedding drew closer, Henry started to panic.  His family was dead long before, and his friends had either abandoned him or had turned to leeches.  In the end all he had to rely on was himself. 

As discretely as possible, he started selling his belongings, from his clothes and furniture to his precious books.  The only thing he held in reserve was the gift from Emmaline.  The day he’d left town, he’d dropped the book in the mail to her.  In it, he’d left a note.

_Sorry.  I can’t do this.  – Henry_

He’d taken his life savings and he’d headed west, searching for adventure.  What he’d found was Red.

Part of him was content with his current lot in life.  He loved Montana, with its open skies and its startling vistas.  He liked the strength he was building every day through hard, honest work.  He enjoyed much of the physical side of his relationship with Red, despite the occasional faux pas.

At the same time, he wasn’t like Red, who thrived on hard work.  Henry disliked doing the laundry and making butter every day was a tedious torture.  He liked tending the vegetable garden but the whole canning process was a hot, steamy mess.  He positively hated every aspect of butchering an animal, from the initial kill right up to the smoking of the meat.  And while he did love being touched by Red, he sometimes thought of his conversations with Emmaline and even Mr. Hamlin with intense longing.  Man could not live on bread alone; Henry was finding that aphorism applied just as well to carnal relations.

It wasn’t that Red was stupid – far from it.  His range of skills was impressive and his management of his ranch was downright astonishing.  Given free rein, Red could tell you more than you ever needed or wanted to know about breeding sheep, and from what Henry had seen, he was a savvy negotiator when it came to business as well.

What Red was not, however, was a literary man.  Having been raised by two literate individuals and having spent the majority of his life in a very erudite crowd, Henry had never before realized that there were people in the world who, given a choice, would choose _not_ to read.

It felt snobbish to admit, but Henry missed literary conversation.  He missed being able to keep up with world news.  He missed political debates with his acquaintances and legal arguments with his fellow associates.

Eventually Henry grew sick of his own self-pity.  He was being greedy, he told himself firmly.  He had plenty to eat, enough money to buy essentials and a few items just for pleasure, and he had a safe, active sex life far from prying eyes.  Any number of inverted men would jump at the chance to live Henry’s current life.  So it wasn’t perfect.  What was?  The point was, it was good enough and Henry should just learn to take what he could get and be happy.

And so the rest of winter passed away, with Red demanding sex and Henry carefully not arguing.

As the snow melted and outdoor chores began eating up increasing large chunks of each day, Henry grew a bit more content with his life.  He had his own domain in the ranch now and while it may not have been a domain he would have chosen, it was still nice to have something that he could consider his own.

It also helped that Red went back to spending several hours a day working on the fences, though the fifth pasture was currently on hold as he rode the rest of the pasture fences and made necessary repairs.  The mornings were still devoted to chopping wood, though, and Henry no longer had to hide his admiration of Red’s flexing body.  This usually led to the most predictable end, and over time Henry found himself bent over nearly every surface of the yard, including the chopping block itself.

In March, Henry learned how to shear wool from the heavily pregnant ewes.  “Won’t they be cold?” Henry asked doubtfully, looking at the greatly diminished animals.

“They’ll be fine,” Red said reassuringly.  “It’s why I wait so long to let the rams loose.”  Henry’s bafflement must have shown on his face, because Red added, “The ewes need to be sheared before they give birth.  Otherwise the blood and afterbirth gets caught up in the wool and attracts flies.”

Henry quickly put up a hand to stop Red from going further and explaining why attracting flies would be a bad thing.  He strongly suspected that he didn’t want to know.

Shortly thereafter, lambs began to be seen in the pastures and Red brought the rams back to the pen near the barn.  “I leave them out where there’s more food in the winter,” Red explained.  “But they’ll fight with the male lambs, given half a chance, even though the ewes won’t be ready to breed again till the fall.”

In April, Hank showed up at the ranch soaked with sweat and with a wild look in his eye.  “President Lincoln’s been shot.  He’s dead.”

Henry’s stomach plummeted and his eyes burned.  “My God.”  He’d been impressed when the President had taken a strong stance against slavery, and had hoped that the war between the states would eventually end with the southern states accepting that all people were created equal.  That didn’t seem very likely now.

“Damn shame,” Red said, sounding remarkably calm about it all.  “He was a good man.”

“What about Vice President Johnson?” Henry asked.

“Already sworn in, I heard,” Hank answered.

“Going to be a hell of a job, getting the southern states back into the union,” Red commented.  “We’ll need to get the wool ready to go – prices are going to be going up.”

Henry exchanged a commiserating glance with Hank, but neither commented and a few minutes later Hank went back to the road to deliver the news to the next ranch.

Astonishingly enough, the spring seemed to heighten Red’s formidable libido even more, to the point that a day rarely passed where Henry wasn’t called into service twice and sometimes three times a day.  Henry’s own libido couldn’t begin to keep up, which meant that not only did he find himself perpetually sore, there was an embarrassing time or two where he’d had to fake a climax.  It shouldn’t have been possible to do so, but Red was starting to get increasingly frenzied in his fornication, to the point that there were times he seemed to forget Henry was anything more than a wet hole for Red’s prick.

Self-preservation eventually led Henry to start avoiding Red as best he could.  Of course, this was a challenge in a two-room house, and Henry failed more often than he succeeded.

The breaking point came late in May, when Red entered the cabin with rope in his hands and lust in his eyes.  Henry was blindfolded and his arms tied behind his back, leaving him helpless as he felt something cold and hard pressed inexorably up into his anus.  The broken broom handle, if Henry had to guess, which Red had recently wrapped in several layers of deer leather so that it was even larger than Red’s cock.

With Henry’s rectum thus stretched to the limit, he felt something warm and velvety press against his lips.  Henry opened his mouth for Red’s cock and used his lips and tongue to work the shaft with now well-practiced movements.  He hardly need have bothered; Red gave him less than a minute before taking Henry’s head in his hands and forcing his cock down Henry’s throat.

Henry held still as Red fucked his throat, all of his attention focused on capturing gasps of air when he could.  It didn’t take Red long to spend himself; it rarely did for his first time.  The moment his throat was unobstructed, Henry heaved in deep, desperate gulps of air until his lungs stopped burning.  He hardly noticed the rest of his body during this time, though in the back of the mind he registered that his forehead was pressed down to the ground and his butt was in the air.

With a sharp yank, the broom handle was pulled free from Henry’s anus, and Henry couldn’t quite hold back a squeal at the bright flare of pain that this caused.  He heard Red’s rumbling voice, either a low laugh or a sympathetic murmur, Henry couldn’t tell.  Then he felt the now utterly familiar sensation of Red pushing into his body.

It felt good, Henry couldn’t deny that.  Intense sparks of pleasure shot up his spine as Red thrust, and Henry could feel his balls tightening as Red moved faster, harder, deeper.  He was on the verge of coming when Red abruptly pulled out.  Henry couldn’t figure out why until he was turned over onto his back and he felt warm liquid splattering over his body.

A calloused hand ran its way over Henry’s stomach, undoubtedly gathering up the seed that Red had spilled.  That same hand slid down to Henry’s penis and beyond, roughly fondling Henry’s scrotum for a moment before moving back up to yank at Henry’s penis.  It only took a handful of rough, businesslike pulls before Henry was arching into the touch as he achieved his own climax.

Red immediately untied Henry and removed the blindfold, and Henry found himself gathered up in burly arms and cradled against a massive chest.  He wasn’t always sure how he felt about Red’s more intense ideas, but he always loved resting in Red’s arms afterwards.

Under his thigh, Henry felt a hot and increasingly firm pressure.  Red let out a low, dirty chuckle and his fingers began probing Henry’s sore anus.  After a few minutes of that, he pushed Henry down onto his stomach.  Without further warning, Red mounted Henry, using his cock to shove Henry back and forth over the rough wooden floor of the cabin.

Henry closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.  As he waited for Red to finish, he realized that he had just reached his limit.

~~~

According to Red, Copper Creek’s first dance of the year actually happened on New Year’s Day.  Of course, the snow usually made it impossible for most of the ranchers to come to that dance. 

The second dance of the year was hosted by the churches of Copper Creek, on the last Saturday of April.  For reasons that Red refused to go into, he – and by extension, Henry – was not invited to that dance.

The third dance of the year was the Copper Creek Ladies Social in the middle of May.  Henry didn’t need any explanation as to why they skipped that one, though Red noted that without a bridge over the wash – which was now swollen with icy-cold runoff from the mountains – it was impossible for them to get to town anyway.

The fourth dance of the year, and the first one that really mattered for Red and Henry, was given by the Gutenbergs in the first weekend in June.  The Gutenbergs owned the ranch directly to the north of the McNallys.  It was a smaller ranch and thus a smaller affair, but Red assured Henry that the local ranchers, at the very least, would be attending.  Henry confirmed that Gertrude McNally was included in that group then went off to the barn to tend to the animals, and to brood.

The morning of the dance dawned to forbidding clouds, and Henry held his breath for most of the day, fearing an inopportune storm would cause the dance to be cancelled.  Red had just laughed at Henry’s fears and playfully reached out to grab Henry several times during the day.  Henry dodged most of the attempts.  The one time he was caught, he found himself kissed thoroughly and then released. 

Henry thought to himself that it was a shame that this mischievous, relaxed side of Red didn’t come out more often.  Henry quite liked Red when he was acting this way.

Henry was quieter than usual on the ride out to the Gutenberg ranch, though Red was so caught up in his usual monologue about the surrounding area that he didn’t seem to notice.  The first half of the journey was the same road they’d taken to go to the McNally dance, and Henry appreciated the chance to take in the beauty of the area with milder, though still present, nerves.  The air was crisp and clean and Henry was struck with how different it was from the moisture-laden fog that so often filled San Francisco. 

And the trees!  So much smaller than the majestic redwoods that covered the California coast, and yet just as beautiful as they contrasted with the light grey and gold of the surrounding rocks and dirt.  The delicately exquisite columbine, the regal hawks that flew overhead, and the sweeping vistas that seemed to be around every turn – how had Henry not seen it all before?  Whatever he may feel or not feel for Red, he’d fallen in love with the Montana Territory and the thought of leaving it gave Henry’s heart a wrench.

“Almost there,” Red said jovially, and Henry started, having lost track of Red’s monologue after all.  “Gonna dance with the ladies again?” Red asked slyly.  “Or will you give one of the lads a thrill and tie on a strip?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Henry said.  “I mean, it’d be one thing if it was you, but to dance with a man pretending that I’m a woman …”

Red looked at him thoughtfully.  “I hadn’t thought of it that way before.  If it makes you feel any better, there will be a fair number of men like us at this shindig.”

“Really?”  Henry couldn’t quite believe there were enough like-minded men in the area to call a fair number, much less believe that they all congregated together at a country dance.

“We make a point of attending the ranch dances,” Red explained.  “More opportunities for privacy, and no one’ll blink an eye at men dancing together.”

That did make sense, though Henry still thought it a terrible risk.  “How many are there … like us … in Copper Creek?”

“At least six that I know of,” Red said.  “Seven if we count you.”

Henry couldn’t help it; he stared.  “ _Six_?”  He’d never met a single inverted man in his entire life before Montana, and this town in the middle of the vast wilderness had six of them?

“Ranching’s a natural profession for a Mary,” Red said with a shrug.  “No expectation that you’ll get married, unless you own your own land.  Not even much need to spend time with women.  And it’s not talked about much to outsiders, but if a man goes long enough without female companionship, he might turn to another man.  For some of us, that might be the only chance we have.”

Henry felt a pang in his throat, and looked away from Red’s earnest eyes.  Put that way, it all sounded rather sad.  Yet another reason why Henry should be happy with what he was fortunate enough to have found.  What were the chances that he’d find another man to share his life with?

Better than none, a small voice said in the back of his mind.  At least in Copper Creek.  “Tell me about the others,” Henry said abruptly.  “Who are they?  How did you meet?”

Red raised his eyebrows, but obligingly began another monologue, this time about the inverts of Copper Creek.  Mark Tanner, the local carpenter, who sold pieces as far away as Chicago and who had designed a remarkable wooden cock that he liked to use on himself.  Hank Marrow, who did short term jobs in town and at the ranches.  Next to Red, who had the privacy of his own cabin, Hank probably had it the easiest, since no one questioned his presence, no matter where he might be.  Hank also wasn’t particular in his pleasures; he’d even been known to occasionally partake of the town’s whores. 

Chris Fraiser worked the Halstead ranch, which was too small to host a dance of their own, but at least they didn’t protest when Chris went off to enjoy the other dances.  He was extremely particular in his pleasures, to the point that not everyone thought him worth the effort.  And finally, Jack Bannon and David Taylor, who both worked the McNally ranch and who were currently saving up to buy a small homestead together.  “I suspect Gertrude McNally knows about those two,” Red said as they topped a small hill.  Down in the distance the dance was already underway.  “She knows the value of a good ranch hand, though, and Jack and David are the best.”  He paused for a moment before adding, “They have to be.”

Henry stared down at the party below.  The crowd was mostly male, of course, but they seemed to be having a wonderful time anyway, men arm in arm with other men, twirling each other and swinging through the steps of the dance.  Which were the ones that Red had told him of?  Which were the inverts?  Henry couldn’t tell from here.

“Ready to go?” Red asked hopefully.  He obviously was; his back was straight and his hands were tight on the reins.  Under him, the black mare quivered.

“Of course,” Henry lied, and he nudged Hyperion forward.  Three hours, maybe less, to make a life-changing decision.  It would have to be time enough.


	8. Chapter 8

If it was at all possible, Red would have said that he’d been looking forward to the Gutenberg dance even more than last year.  Not that the winter hadn’t been fantastic; Red had never had a winter so good, not even that year when he’d hired Hank on to help clear the land that would eventually become the third pasture.

That didn’t seem to matter to his greedy cock, though.  All Red had been able to think of in the week leading up to the dance was Chris’s hot throat and Mark’s tight ass. Maybe he’d even see if Hank was up for a quick fumble or try the McNally hands.  Jack and David rarely strayed from each other beyond the annual highlight of Mark’s taking all comers during the McNally dance.  It could be fun to test the waters, however, and maybe he would get lucky.

What made this dance so special was the knowledge that, for once, the delights wouldn’t end with the music.  Tonight, Red wouldn’t have to return home to a cold cabin and an empty bed.  Instead, he’d go home with Henry, and the two of them could fuck the night away.  Red was already anticipating a night of exchanging stories; maybe they could recreate their favorite encounters.

Once they reached the crowd gathered in the Gutenberg yard, Red passed Henry off to Gertrude McNally, barely remembering to add a few polite nothings and a meaningless dance invitation before he was off again, looking for a bright flash of yellow hair.  Mark was easy enough to find, though he was unfortunately already engaged in a dance.  Red waited impatiently until he managed to catch Mark’s eye by chance.  He jerked his head toward the trees and didn’t bother waiting for an acknowledgement before hurrying off.

In the relative privacy of the trees, Red opened his fly and pulled out his aching cock.  Leaning back against a thick tree trunk, he stroked himself lightly, barely able to stand the feel of his own fingers against his skin.  He felt like he was burning alive, and like he was cold at the core all at the same time, and he knew in the heart of him that the only thing that could make him feel better was to shove his cock into someplace dark and wet and tight.

“Red?  Are you there?  What the –”

Mark yelped as Red reached out and hauled him behind the tree, but didn’t make any protest, so Red spun the other man around and shoved him chest first into the tree trunk.  Yanking at the other man’s clothes, he managed to get Mark’s pants down beneath the curve of his ass.  Pawing between Mark’s smooth cheeks, Red’s fingers skimmed over a smooth wooden surface.

He moaned.

“I want one of these,” Red whispered hotly into Mark’s ear as he jerked the wooden cock from Mark’s body and tossed it aside.  “At least one.  Maybe more.”

“You – fuck.”  Mark shuddered as Red rammed his way inside.  It took more effort than usual; Mark must’ve used less grease than at the McNally party.  “Fuck, fuck.”  Mark took a deep breath, then started pushing back into the rough fucking Red was giving him, until they hit the perfect speed.  Red put his hands on Mark’s hips to keep him at that pace until they fucked themselves to orgasm.

“Damn, Red,” Mark said, unbuckling his pants so that he could pull them back up.  “What was that about?”

Red, who was hunting the forest floor for the wooden cock he’d discarded, picked it up with a quiet cry of triumph.  “What do you mean?” he asked as he inspected the cock.  It was a bit worse for wear, covered in dirt and leaves.  Red winced and pulled out a corner of his shirt.

Mark was silent for a moment, then he took the wooden cock back and, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket, he began to rub it clean.  “Never mind.  Did I hear you right?  You want one of these?”

“Yeah,” Red said, hearing the hoarseness in his own voice.  He’d done the best he could with the broom handle, but the thought of pressing a wooden cock like this one into Henry; it made him shudder with renewed lust.

“For yourself?” Mark asked doubtfully.

“For Henry.”

Mark, who’d just reached around to start pushing the cock back into his body, froze mid-crouch.  A moment later he straightened, cock still in hand.  “For Henry.  Your ranch hand?”

“Yeah,” Red said.  “I was thinking I could get one just like that one –” he nodded to the cock in Mark’s hand “– and maybe something a little smaller, without the circle on the end, so that I could put it inside him along with my co–”

“Does Henry know you’re here with me?” Mark cut in, crouching down again and slipping the wooden cock back in his body with impressive ease before standing back up to put his clothes to rights.

Red hesitated, thrown by the interruption.  “I don’t know.  Why?”

“Does he even know that you fuck other men?”

“I’m sure he under–”

“Has he ever fucked another man before?”

Red swallowed.  He was starting to feel a very uncomfortable churning in his stomach.  “No.”

“And how long have the two of you been fucking?”

“Since November.”

“Jesus Christ.  Red –”  Mark stopped and took a breath and the churning in Red’s stomach started to burn.  “Get out of here.”

Red’s head snapped back at the words.  It was almost like being slapped.  “What?”

“Get out of here.  Go find Henry.  Go _talk to_ Henry.  Make sure he’s okay with you fucking other men.”

Red scowled.  “Henry’s not my keeper.  He doesn’t get to decide what I do or don’t do.”

Mark stared, looking incredulous for some reason.  Then, as Red watched, Mark’s face shuttered.  “You’re right,” Mark said, and even his voice had been wiped clean of emotion.  “It’s your life and you have to decide how to live it.”  He turned and started walking away, leaving Red to stare after him, feeling unaccountably anxious.  Mark was several yards away when he stopped.  “Oh, and Red?”

“Yeah?” Red asked hopefully, taking a step forward.

“Next time you have a wagon spoke break, take it to Jeb.”  With that, Mark walked out of the woods.  He didn’t look back.

Red fell back against the nearest tree trunk, letting it support most of his weight.  He felt like he had just been gut punched.  What had just happened?  One moment he and Mark were having a great time, then Mark was asking about Henry, and suddenly Mark decided he never wanted to see Red again?  Even thinking about the words that had been exchanged didn’t make it any clearer.  He’d argued with Mark before.  Hell, at one time or another he’d argued with just about everyone in his life, aside from Henry.

Henry.  Shit.  Red may not have understood most of his fight with Mark, but it was clear that Mark thought that Henry would be upset about something.  If that was the case, then Red needed to talk to Henry right away.

All of his attempts to get Henry alone were for naught, however.  Henry was speaking to Gertrude McNally when Red arrived and he didn’t leave her side for the entire night.

On the ride home, Henry was quiet, which wasn’t unusual.  Red did his best to get him talking anyway, and failed utterly.

Back at the cabin, Red watched fretfully as Henry silently went about his evening chores.  When they went to bed, Red was careful and tender, doing his best to show Henry how much he cared.

When he shuddered and came, Red pulled back to see tears in Henry’s eyes.  Red swallowed hard, feeling a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.  “Henry?”

“I was offered a job today.”

Red swore silently.  Carefully he pulled out of Henry’s body and shifted so that he was lying on the mattress.  “At the McNally ranch?”

Henry let out a little huffing laugh.  “No, not at any ranch.  In town, as the schoolteacher.  Apparently they’ve had a tough time replacing Miss Dahl.”

Red opened his mouth, then shut it again, unsure of what to say.  Besides, there was an odd lump in his throat that made the idea of talking laughable.

“The pay is ten dollars a week,” Henry added quickly.  “Though that’s only when school is in session.  Once the schoolhouse is built, though, I can stay there year round for free, and I’m allowed to find other work when I’m not teaching.”

Red’s throat was nearly closed now, and there was a pain in his chest unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

“I think I’d like teaching,” Henry said, sounding a little desperate.  “I always enjoyed learning myself, and I think I could make a real difference by inspiring young minds.” 

He stopped for a long moment.  Red tried to find something to say, but all he could think of was to beg Henry not to leave.  Clearly it was too late for that.  Mark was right; Red had somehow screwed up everything.

“Red?  Please say something.”

“I think,” Red rasped, and he had to stop and clear his throat a few times.  Each time hurt a little more, as if his throat was suddenly lined with sandpaper.  “I think it sounds like a good opportunity for you,” he finally managed, though his throat now hurt so much that it felt like he was bleeding the words.  Blinking back a sudden burning in his eyes, he forced himself to add, “Congratulations.”

Henry was silent for a very long time, so long that Red was sure he was asleep and he was actually startled when Henry finally shifted over onto his side.  “Thanks,” he said, in a quiet, distant voice.

“You’re welcome,” Red said, but no sound came out of his mouth and he didn’t bother trying to say them again.  Instead he stared up at the shadowy bulk of the ceiling, trying to figure out what he did wrong and fruitlessly searching for the words that might make things right.

~~~

The next morning was a quiet one.  Red’s initial impulse had been to send Henry off without breakfast, but he’d felt guilty ten minutes later and ended up making a feast that would feed five.  It was mostly wasted, as Red gave up on eating after choking down a few bites and Henry just picked at his food.

It only took Henry a few minutes to pack his belongings; everything he owned fit easily into a pair of saddlebags.  Henry had asked if he could borrow Hyperion for the ride into town and Red had agreed.  That had been nearly all of the conversation of the morning, aside from a few words of habit: “excuse me” and “pass the salt, please” and “the coffee is ready”.

As Red followed Henry out to the barn, he felt a moment of panic.  This was it, his last chance to make Henry stay.  If he didn’t say something now, he’d never have another chance.  Opening his mouth, Red blurted out, “Keep the horse.”

Henry looked as startled as Red felt; it was a ridiculous gift, worth far more than Henry would have saved up by this point, even if he included every penny that Red had scrupulously paid out to Henry an hour or two before.  “What?” Henry asked tentatively.

Now that the words were said, however, Red wasn’t inclined to take them back.  “Keep the horse,” he repeated.  “Maybe you could ride him back sometime.  For a visit.  If you want.”

Henry chewed that over for what felt like an eternity.  “If you wish,” he finally said.

“I do wish,” Red said quickly.  “I wish it very much.”

Henry opened his mouth and Red leaned forward, desperate to hear anything Henry might want to say to him. 

In the end, Henry just shook his head and turned to mount Hyperion.  One he was seated, Henry said in a formal-sounding voice, “I thank you from the bottom of my heart for everything you’ve done for me, Red.  Take care of yourself.”

Red came up to put his hand on Hyperion’s withers, close enough that he could touch Henry, if he thought his touch would be welcome.  “You, too, Henry.  You’ve done a great job here and I’ll – I’ll miss you.”  He risked putting a hand on Henry’s ankle and looked up, feeling like his heart was in his eyes.

Henry just smiled a strange, sad little smile and nudged Hyperion with the foot that had been in Red’s hand.  Red had to jump back not to get trampled as Hyperion ran away with Henry on his back.


	9. Chapter 9

The first thing Henry learned on his arrival in Copper Creek was that the schoolhouse building was not just unfinished – it wasn’t even started yet.  “Mrs. McNally didn’t mention that point,” Henry said darkly to Frank Hobbs, the town’s barber and mayor.  According to Sheriff Winchester, who had been Henry’s first stop on arriving in town, Copper Creek had had a devil of a time getting anyone who wanted to be mayor, so the local businessmen drew lots every six months to see who would be stuck with the job.  That had seemed like a terrible way to run a town when the sheriff explained it, and Henry had seen nothing so far to change his opinion.

“It’s not much of a bother to keep with the tent,” Mr. Hobbs offered.  “There’s a cot in the back for you to bunk down in.  Of course, that’s only when school’s in session, which it’s not right now.”

“And when school’s not in session?”

“We rent that tent out to passing businessmen.  Helps pay for the school the rest of the year.”

Henry closed his eyes, trying to control both his temper and an irritating but persistent desire to bawl.  “What if I help to build the school?  At my originally stated rate of pay,” he added quickly.  The sheriff, who’d been quite chatty as he walked Henry through the town, had been pretty confident that Miss Dahl hadn’t gotten anywhere near ten dollars a week for her work.  Henry must’ve looked as worried as he’d felt, because Sheriff Winchester had quickly added that if Mrs. McNally had promised ten dollars a week, he’d be paid ten dollars a week, even if she had to make up the difference out of her own pocket.

Hobbs brightened.  “Are you a carpenter?  I could maybe go as high as two dollars a day if you were to agree to build the school for us.  You’d have to cut and mill the wood yourself, though; the mills can’t keep up with the demand for wood in Butte and we can’t afford the current prices.”

Henry winced and admitted he wasn’t a carpenter.  “But I am a hard worker,” he added quickly.  “If one of your local carpenters can provide the expertise, I can provide the labor.”

Mr. Hobbs looked less than impressed.  “I’ll see what I can do.  Can’t pay as much for labor, mind.  Not more than a dollar a day.”

Henry struggled to control his expression.  He could live on a dollar a day, barely, if he were able to work every day.  “What about weekends?” he asked tentatively.

“Saturday’s just like any other day,” Hobbs said gruffly.  “We don’t work on the Lord’s day, of course.”

Six dollars a week.  Damnation.  It would be a fine sum if his room and board were included, but lodging alone would run four or five dollars per week, and that didn’t include food. 

Not to mention Hyperion!  Henry had never had to pay to stable a horse before, but he doubted it would run less than a dollar a week and he could easily see it running as high as three. 

When Mrs. McNally had offered ten dollars a week for the job, Henry had blessed her.  Now he was cursing his damned luck.

“When do the children come back?”

“Depends on the harvest,” Hobbs said.  “Usually sometime in mid-September.  Used to be we’d close when the snows came, but if there was a schoolhouse that could be properly heated we could consider having classes in the winter, at least for those students in town.”

Henry considered the money in his pocket.  If he lived very frugally and didn’t eat too much, he could probably live on seven or eight dollars a week.  As long as he kept getting six dollars a week, the money he’d earned at Red’s should be enough to make up the difference, at least for the summer.

“When can we start?”

~~~

It turned out that both of the carpenters in Copper Creek had more work than they could handle, and neither one was immediately available to work on building a schoolhouse.  In desperation, Henry offered to start working on preparing the building site.  It took some fast talking to convince Hobbs, but he eventually agreed with Henry that it was probably necessary.

Henry hadn’t actually seen the site before he made the offer to clear it; once he had, he realized that he should’ve negotiated a higher rate of pay.

The Copper Creek schoolhouse was slated to be built on a piece of land that had been donated by the Jesuit mission.  Its location was good: near the center of town and on the top of a slight bluff that elevated the spot above its neighbors and looked down over the muddy brown creek that wended its way through town.  At one point there had been a small chapel on the spot, but it had been badly damaged by a fire. After much public debate, the elders of the mission had decided to rebuild farther outside of town, on a site that could support a larger building to serve the needs of a growing community.

All of that had occurred a few years before.  By the time Henry saw the site, the scorched husk of the old chapel had started to cave in on itself, and copious weeds were growing inside and out.  As Henry learned the hard way, most of the weeds had prickly spines that left his hands raw and red.

He went back to Hobbs.  “I need tools,” he said grimly.

“Tools to be paid out of your salary,” Hobbs said.

Henry clenched his burning hands.  It gave him the anger necessary to say, “No.  You’re not paying me enough to live on and you’re certainly not paying me enough to buy my own gear.  You want that site cleared, then I need tools.”

Hobbs looked ready to argue, so Henry added, “I’m sure Mrs. McNally would let me borrow some of the ranch’s, but I’d hate to waste a day just to ride out there and ask.”

Hobbs flushed angrily at that, but when Henry went back to that site the next day, tools were waiting.

Henry spent over a week demolishing the old church.  At first he’d just used a sledgehammer and a lot of sweat, attracting quite an audience of women and the occasional man in the process.  One of the men loped over while Henry was taking a water break.  “Son, you could work on that mess till next month and you’re like to get killed before you finish.”

Henry splashed some water on his face, which mostly served to move the grit around.  “What do you suggest?”

“Have you considered renting a horse?  John Cary could probably do you for, down at the stable.”

Henry laughed hollowly.  “I’m an idiot.”  Off the man’s curious expression, he explained, “I have a horse.  He hasn’t been getting much exercise, either, as I’ve been working all day, every day.”

“Should bring him out here, then,” the man said sagely.  “Make him earn his keep.”

After that, the demolishing went much faster, though it took several trips back to Hobbs to get the equipment necessary to keep Hyperion from getting hurt as he helped pull down half-burned beams.  Fortunately, Hyperion took to the new tasks with good humor; Henry suspected Red’s black mare would have pitched fits at the very idea of being turned into a drag horse.

A week later, the church had been turned into a few neat heaps of useless wood.  Henry was busying himself with the miserable task of uprooting weeds, some of which were taller than he was, when a newcomer showed up on the building site.  “Henry Longfellow, I presume?”

Henry looked up to find a man with bright blond hair, delicate features, and a very slight frame.  “Hello there,” Henry said cautiously, climbing to his feet and stripping off a work glove.  “You have the better of me,” he added, holding out his hand for a shake.

“Mark Tanner,” the stranger said, taking the offered hand.  Henry’s breath caught in his throat.  “Frank hired me to build the schoolhouse.  Not sure why, as I’m a carpenter, not a builder or an architect, but he assures me that you’ll be doing all of the actual work.”

Henry realized he was gaping and snapped his mouth shut.  Then he remembered to take his hand back.  “Ah, right.  Yes.  I mean, I don’t know the first thing about building, but if you tell me what to do, I’ll get it done.”

“Good, good,” Tanner said, shifting awkwardly.  He seemed to be a little off as well, which made Henry feel a bit better.  “Look.  Are you doing anything right now?”

Henry pointedly looked at the pile of weeds next to his foot.

“Sorry, that – what I meant is, can you take a break?  We need to sit down and, and … plan.  For the schoolhouse.”

“Sure,” Henry said, slipping off his other glove and shoving both of them in his back pocket.  “Lay on, McDuff.”

Tanner looked startled, but just smiled uncertainly and walked off.  Henry followed with a silent sigh, wondering if he’d ever again meet someone who would understand a reference to Shakespeare.

They ended up at a small storefront with a “closed” sign out front.  Tanner unlocked the door and gestured Henry in before leading him through a back door that opened into a huge workroom.  “Wow,” Henry said, looking around to see at least a dozen pieces of furniture and wagon parts in varying states of disrepair.  “I wouldn’t have guessed this was back here.”

“I actually own all of the shops on this block,” Tanner said, going to a cupboard on a side wall and coming back with a pitcher and two mugs.  “I rent out the store fronts, but tore down all of the walls between the backrooms to make my workshop.”  He poured something frothy from the pitcher into the mugs and passed one over to Henry.  “So, you used to work for Red Redmond.”

 Henry choked on his first swallow of beer.  He recovered quickly though, and retorted with, “And you’re the guy who makes the wooden cocks.”

Tanner’s cheeks pinked.  “Red told you about that?”

“Honestly, I suspect he was thinking of asking you to make him one.”

“For you?”

It was Henry’s turn to blush and he shifted slightly in his seat before answering.  “Probably.”

They sat in uncomfortable silence for long enough that Henry finished his beer and was thinking of pouring himself another.  It was surprisingly good, bitter and yeasty, but he had never been one for drinking and he was afraid of it going to his head.

“Can I ask,” Tanner started, then stopped.  He cleared his throat.  “Can I ask – why did you leave Red?  I mean, his ranch.  Why did you leave his ranch?”

Henry stared, feeling the blood drain from his face.  “You know.”  Tanner flinched.  “He _told_ you?”

“He told you about me,” Tanner said defensively.  “And I’m guessing about others as well.”

In the back of his mind, Henry was impressed by the careful wording.  The bulk of his mind, however, was busy being outraged.  “Yeah, but we were –”  He stopped, feeling his ears burn with embarrassment.

“– were fucking,” Tanner finished, his voice surprisingly gentle.

Henry tried to answer, but his throat was too tight, so he just nodded.

For some reason Tanner had a pitying look on his face.  A second later, the penny dropped.  “Oh,” Henry said dully.  “He was fucking you, too.”

Tanner nodded, looking miserable.

“The wagon spokes,” Henry said.  It was all making so much sense now.  “But no, that was before he and I started … right.  So, when –?  Oh …”  His stomach churned.  “The Gutenberg dance.”

“Sorry,” Tanner whispered.  “I stopped it as soon as he told me about you.”

Henry forced himself to shrug.  “It’s all right.  Well, no it isn’t, but … I’d already decided to leave then, for other reasons.  I didn’t know about you till just now.”

“I’d guessed,” Tanner said, in a good approximation of a wry voice.

They sat there some more, in a slightly less awkward silence, sipping beer.

Tanner finally drained his mug and set it aside.  “So, I guess we should talk about the schoolhouse.”

Henry grunted and finished his own beer.  He was feeling a little dizzy, truth be told, but he would be damned before showing any weakness before this man.  “I guess we should.”

~~~

Once Tanner was on board, everything started to move much faster.  Henry worked on the weeds as the remnants of the old church disappeared and new lumber appeared.  Henry didn’t mill that lumber and he sincerely doubted Tanner did either, but he made no comment as he started hauling posts around and arranging them per Tanner’s instructions.

Hammers and nails appeared next and Henry just about hammered his own thumb right off before Tanner sighed and took the tools away.  He worked with quick, neat movements and rarely took more than two blows to fully seat a nail.  Henry watched with secret envy.

One day a couple dozen men appeared out of nowhere, and by the end of the day the framework for the new schoolhouse was upright and braced in place. 

“Not bad,” Tanner said the next day as he arrived with a fresh supply of lumber.  “We’re actually a bit ahead of schedule.”

Henry, who’d been working from dawn till dusk for weeks and had lost track of the days ages ago, glared at him.

Tanner had just laughed.

Henry spent that day holding pieces of wood upright while Tanner hammered them in place.  It wasn’t the hardest work he’d had to do, not by a long shot, but it did require a lot of stamina.  Henry found himself rather pleased when the end of the day came around and his muscles weren’t aching.

“You work very hard,” Tanner commented as he climbed down from the ladder around five o’clock, like he did every day.  “I’ve seen you here after I leave at night, getting things ready for the next day.”

Henry just shrugged.  Tanner didn’t need to know how much Henry was relying on the free lodging that would come with the finished schoolhouse.

“I’d like to treat you to dinner.”

Henry started and turned to Tanner.  “What?  Why?”

“Because we’re working together,” Tanner said as if it was obvious.  “Because you deserve a break.”  He glanced to one side, then the other, before adding under his breath, “And because of other things we have in common.”

Henry’s first thought was _we’ve both been fucked by Red_ , which wasn’t a shared past that he wanted to celebrate.

Some of what he was thinking must have showed on his face, because Tanner rolled his eyes.  “Things in common other than certain people.”

Those things in common were _related_ to certain people, but Henry made himself nod.  “Where?”

Tanner gave Henry directions to his place, which seemed a bit risky.  “Should I be careful about being seen?” Henry asked quietly.

“We’ve worked together long enough now that no one will think it odd that you’re visiting my house.”  Quieter, Tanner added, “I make it a habit to invite people over regularly.  No one will think this time is any different.”

It struck Henry that Mark Tanner was a far better invert than Henry could ever hope to be.  “I’ll be there at six.”

“I look forward to it,” Mark said, smiling.

Despite himself, Henry found himself smiling back.

~~~

Mark’s house was a small, tidy structure on the outskirts of the permanent buildings that made up the core of Copper Creek.  It was painted blue, though the first five feet were the same dirt color as the rest of the town, and there was a brown picket fence that might once have been white, which enclosed a smallish patch of dirt.

“I once dreamed of having a grass lawn, like they do back east,” Mark confided as he handed Henry a glass of wine at the door.  “But the ground’s too dry here.  I guess it would be possible to irrigate lawns the same way farmers irrigate their crops, but it seems like a terrible waste of water.”

Henry conceded the point and sipped the wine.  It was a red, full bodied and more delicious than anything Henry had tasted since coming east from California.  “This is wonderful.  I didn’t know you could get French wine here.”

Mark smiled and led Henry to a neat sitting room.  The couch and overstuffed chairs were flanked by beautifully carved end tables.  All around the room were decorative touches, from the delicately carved wooden flowers on the mantelpiece to the discretely patterned wallpaper to the landscapes on the walls.  Henry couldn’t help but compare the comfortable, cozy space to Red’s cramped and cluttered cabin, and he felt something in his spine relax.  For the first time since coming to Montana, he was in a place that reminded him of home.

“It’s possible to get anything in Montana that you could get in a big city,” Mark said in answer to Henry’s question.  “You just have to know the right people.”  He took another sip of wine and smiled in open pleasure.  “I regularly ship my work to Chicago and San Francisco.  The wine is part of my payment.”

“Really?” Henry asked, sitting forward in his chair.  “What do you ship to San Francisco?  Maybe I’ve seen your work before.”

Mark smiled ruefully.  “I doubt it.  I have sent a few pieces that could be seen in polite company, but those were private commissions.  As for the majority of what I sell in the cities, well … wait here a moment.”

Henry settled back in his seat, thoroughly confused but willing to take the opportunity to roll his next sip of wine around his mouth, delighting in the complex layers.  He closed his eyes to fully appreciate the moment, and only opened them again when he heard the floor creak.

Mark stood in front of him with a wooden cock in hand.

Henry choked, and painfully learned that the wine was far less pleasant when coughed up into his nasal region.  “What is _that_?”

“I think you know,” Mark said dryly.  He set the phallus on one of the end tables.  “You can touch it, if you’d like.”

Hesitantly, Henry ran a finger over the tip.  The wood had been sanded down until it was satiny smooth, giving the illusion of softness.  After a moment, he picked the cock up and found it was surprisingly heavy.

“It has a metal core,” Mark said quietly.  “I make some that are just plain wood, but customers seem to prefer the heavier ones.”

“These feel good?” Henry asked, though the question was mostly rhetorical.  He couldn’t keep his fingers from running up and down the wooden cock and he was already imagining how wonderful it would feel to have one pushed up inside his body.

“Yes,” Mark said anyway.  “Especially now.  My original design was straight; that one wasn’t nearly as comfortable.”

“And people will spend money to buy them?”

“That one you’re holding in your hand will sell for between ten and fifteen dollars.”

Henry nearly dropped the cock.  “Fifteen dollars!”  No wonder Mark could afford to own a block of businesses in Copper Creek.

“I’m not the only one who makes wooden phalluses,” Mark said, his tone matter of fact.  “But no one makes them as well as I do.”  He hesitated.  “Would you like to try it?”

Henry was tempted, but after a moment he shook his head and put the cock aside.  “I don’t have fifteen dollars.”

“I didn’t mean –”

“I know.  But still, I’m not ready to try it.  Not yet.  Not the least because I have no place to hide something like that.”

Mark smiled wryly and settled back into his own seat.  “I have a secret cellar where I keep them.  And I ended up buying a second lathe to keep at my house; I didn’t want to risk anyone asking who I was making all of those table legs for.”

Henry snorted and then burst out into full-blown laughter.

Mark’s lips twitched.  “You laugh now, but it’s not nearly as funny when one of your subordinates comes up and points out that you’ve put a curve in the table leg.”  His voice dropped into a caricature of a husky masculine voice.  “Now Mr. Tanner, I’m not trying to tell you how to do your business, but no Copper Creek housewife is going to want a table leg with a curve in it.”

Henry was howling with laughter now.  “G-guess his own table leg is perfectly straight,” he gasped out.

“It’s not the straightness of the table leg,” Mark deadpanned.  “It’s how you use it.”

Henry fell out of his chair in mirth.

“Ah,” he sighed, sometime later.  “I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard.”  He climbed back in his chair.  “Thank you,” he added sincerely.  “I needed that.”

“Any time,” Mark said, with equal sincerity.  “Any time.”

Despite the fancy wines, dinner was a simple affair of boiled chicken and potatoes.  “I’m not a very good cook,” Mark admitted as he served the food.  “My mother died before she could teach me and my stepmother firmly believed that cooking was a woman’s job.  Fine for my brother George, who’s courting the Landry girl, but not much good for me.”

“I’m not very good at cooking either,” Henry admitted.  “I only tried it the one time at Red’s place –”

He cut himself off, blushing hotly.

Mark eyed him for a moment.  “You never did say why you decided to leave Red’s ranch.”  Henry didn’t answer right away and Mark added, “Not that it’s any of my business.  You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“No,” Henry said, putting down his fork with a sigh.  “I should probably talk about it.  It’s just all so … improper.”

Mark’s mouth quirked in a grin.  “Trust me, I know how improper Red can be.”

Not a statement calculated to make Henry feel any better.

“Sorry,” Mark said after a moment.  “We’re a rather incestuous group here in Copper Creek.  Other than you, I don’t know anyone who hasn’t had sex with everyone else at least once.”  He shrugged, looking uncomfortable as he added, “When your opportunities are so few, it’s hard not to take every chance you can get.”

“That makes sense,” Henry said with a sigh.  “Truth is, I never had any opportunities at all in San Francisco.  And then I came here and I didn’t have the option of saying no.”

Mark’s features hardened.  “Are you saying Red raped you?”

“No!” Henry said, horrified.  “Nothing like that.  It’s just – when I first started on at the ranch, Red told me that if I didn’t want to obey an order he gave me, I was welcome to leave.  One day he ordered me to get on my knees and,” he shrugged helplessly, “I didn’t want to leave.”

Mark sighed and rubbed his hands over his face, distorting his handsome features.  “I’m assuming you never actually talked to Red about this.”

“Talking would have been arguing,” Henry said, his voice smaller than he liked.  “And I liked most of it, so for a while it didn’t matter.”

“You liked _most_ of it?” Mark asked sharply.  “Not all?”

Henry nodded miserably.

“Jesus Christ, Henry.  How did you expect Red to know what you did and didn’t like, if you never told him?”

“He never asked!”

“It’s your body!  It’s up to you to decide what happens to it.”

Henry paused, startled.  “I never thought of it that way.”

“I guess that’s not too surprising, considering your background,” Mark said heavily.  “But you can’t put all the responsibility on the other man.  I don’t care what the spiritualists say, no man is a mind-reader.”  He huffed out a laugh.  “And that goes double for Red.”

“So you’re saying if I’d told Red that I didn’t like something, he’d stop doing it?”  It seemed so simple as to be impossible; Henry found himself struggling just to wrap his mind around the idea.

“Without question,” Mark said, all traces of humor gone.  “Red doesn’t have an inhibited bone in his body, but if someone else sets a boundary, he’ll respect it.  Even for Chris, who has so many rules that both Jack and I have given up on him, Red stays within what’s allowed.”

Henry was immediately awash with curiosity.  He tried to fight the question back, but it slipped out anyway.  “What are Chris’s boundaries?”  Shame made him add, “Only if he wouldn’t mind you telling me, of course.”

“He wouldn’t mind in the slightest,” Mark said reassuringly.  “They’re simple enough.  No kissing.  No talking.  No touching below the neck.”

Henry gaped.  “But you couldn’t do anything with those rules.”

“No,” Mark corrected.  “You can’t do _much_ , but there are things you can do.  One thing, at least.”

“No touching below the neck,” Henry murmured to himself.  He was starting to get an idea as to where Red picked up his habit of holding people by the head.

With an effort, Henry refocused his attention on Mark.  “You think I should go back to him.  To Red.”

“No,” Mark said instantly.  “It’s none of my concern whether you go back to Red or not or, if you do, on what terms.  My concern is for the people like us in Copper Creek.  We’re a small group, and the addition of a new person to the fold is a risk.  I don’t want to lose what we’ve built here, especially not because of a misunderstanding.”

For some reason Henry felt a pang of disappointment at Mark’s words.  He made a fair point, though, so Henry picked his fork back up and said, “Tell me the rules, then.  What do I need to know?”

Mark must’ve been holding himself tense because he now relaxed all over.  “Thank you,” he said sincerely as he picked up his own fork.  He ate a bite of potato, then started. “First thing you should know is that Jack and David are monogamous, except when they aren’t.”

Henry promptly buried his face in his hand, unsure if he should laugh or cry.

Over the course of the dinner and the rest of the bottle of wine, Henry learned all about the inverts of Copper Creek.  About Jack and David, who could be propositioned but would usually say no –

“Jack finds it amusing.  David is mostly just tolerant of it all.”

– except for the rare occasion when they might say yes, at which point they may specify an individual liaison –

“That’s usually when they’re fighting, though, so it’s up to you if you want to get caught up in that mess.”

– or may insist that they be taken as a pair.

Henry blushed hotly.  “You mean – three men?  At once?”

A small, dirty smile stretched Mark’s lips.  “It’s quite enjoyable, I assure you.  At any rate, they are the most confusing of our group.  Red, on the other hand, is much more straightforward.”

Henry leaned forward, listening intently as Mark explained what he needed to know about Red.  It mostly boiled down to being very clear ahead of time what was acceptable and what wasn’t; Red had an inexhaustible imagination when it came to carnality, and he wasn’t ashamed to use it.

Chris’s boundaries had already been listed, but Mark reiterated them for emphasis.  “Clearly there’s a story there,” Mark added, “but he’s never volunteered it and no one has quite gotten up the courage to ask.”

Finally there was Hank, whose preferences could best be described as “whatever he could get, whenever he could get it.”

“Red said Hank sometimes went to whores,” Henry said hesitantly.  It was hard to imagine a man who could like both men and women.  Or maybe it was just hard to imagine a man who could like both men and women who didn’t opt to only be with women.  Henry’s life would be so much easier if he could endure the thought of sex with a female; he couldn’t imagine someone voluntarily taking on the difficulty of wanting men if he had another option.

“Well,” Mark said, looking down with a small smile.  “Truth is, Hank does have a preference, one that makes it possible for him to sleep with women, but which would be hard to explain to a proper lady.”

Henry leaned forward in anticipation, wondering what this mysterious preference could be.  Ropes?  Whipping?  Something involving one of Mark’s wooden cocks?

“Feet.”

“Feet,” Henry repeated, nonplussed.  He tried to imagine how one could have sex with a foot, but his imagination failed.  “How –”

“He loves to touch them,” Mark said.  “Even to smell them.  To suck on the toes.”

Henry thought of the smell of his own feet after a long day of hard work, and shuddered.

“Don’t pass judgment,” Mark said sharply.  “No preference is inherently wrong, as long as all parties are willing.”

“I understand,” Henry said quickly.  “I do.  It’s just … feet?”

Mark smiled, once again the picture of geniality.  “I sometimes think he could come from a really thorough foot wash.  That he would give, of course.  Apparently, the whores quite enjoy the attention; he is charged a very low rate for their services.”

Henry could see the appeal of being the _recipient_ of such a foot wash; hell, he’d _pay_ for a really thorough foot wash some days.

Mark started tidying up the dishes and Henry realized that in all of their discussion, they’d missed one very important point.  “And you?” he asked, looking up to where Mark was setting the dishes beside the kitchen sink.  “What about your preferences?”

Mark turned around and leaned back against the counter in a way that was clearly designed to be provocative.  “I’d be happy to show you, if you’d like.”

Somehow, despite everything Mark had told him, Henry found himself caught off guard by the invitation.  “Oh.”

“It’s your choice,” Mark said slowly, clearly.  “Always remember that.  However, if you are in the mood for a bit of mutual solace, I’d be happy to share it with you.”

Apparently ‘mutual solace’ meant fornication in Montana, Henry noted in the back of his mind.  That was good to know.  “I’ve only ever been with Red before,” Henry reminded Mark.

“And I’m offering you the chance to change that,” Mark returned.  He ran a slender finger up the fly of his trousers.

Henry watched that finger raptly.  “Yes,” he heard himself say.  “Yes.”

Mark smiled brightly and straightened.  “I’m so happy to hear that.  Follow me.”

Henry stood up hesitantly and followed Mark – right into the pantry.  “Oh,” he said, trying to contain his disappointment.  It was surely more private than the kitchen would have been, but it was hard to imagine how it could be very comfortable to do anything intimate in this cramped space.  If nothing else, they were surrounded by glass jars and Henry didn’t think those tiny railings on the shelves would do much good if, say, a body was shoved up against them.

Mark didn’t say anything, just reached behind a bottle of grayish green beans.  A second later a clicking noise was heard and the entire wall of jars moved forward an inch.

Henry gaped.  He gaped even more when Mark pulled the wall the rest of the way forward, revealing a small, windowless room with nothing more than a bed and a nightstand with an oddly shaped lamp on it.

“I’ve had to be careful all my life,” Mark said quietly from Henry’s side.  “When I built this house, I made sure I had a space where I didn’t have to hide.”

“No one knows this is here?”

“No one outside of our select group.  I’m sure you noticed that the kitchen curtains were closed.”

Henry hadn’t noticed but when he glanced back, he saw that it was true.

“I keep those curtains closed at all times.  As far as my neighbors are concerned, my guests and I converse for hours on end in the kitchen.”

“I presume you make a point to regularly converse with guests in your kitchen for hours on end.”

“Of course,” Mark said. He stepped into the small room and reached into the cabinet part of the nightstand, pulling out a small flask and a box of matches.  One of the matches was used to light the candle in the lamp before Mark opened the flask and poured a small amount of liquid into the shallow bowl that formed the top part of the lamp.

“It’s whale oil,” Mark explained.  “Less odor than grease or lard, and easier to clean up after.  It’s used for lamps, but there are less expensive options for fuel so there’s not much demand for the oil and it isn’t always available.”

Henry nodded, silently resolving to set aside some money, if possible, to buy oil for himself.

Mark sat down on the bed.  It wasn’t very big, though that was only to be expected in a room this size.  “Before we start, I want you to tell me everything you don’t like.  Don’t be shy.  I’d much rather know the limits before we start, rather than find out after the fact that I overstepped.”

“I don’t like having my head held,” Henry said immediately.  It took him a little longer to add, “And I don’t like being tied up.”  He thought a little more.  “I prefer not to have a penis in my throat, but I could be flexible on that point.”

Mark beamed.  “Perfect.  Next time you plan on being intimate with someone new, make sure you tell him all of that.”

Henry nodded uncertainly.  This was all starting to sound a little too much like tutoring by an overly friendly teacher for his taste.  “What about you?  What don’t you like?”

“Truthfully, there’s nothing that I really don’t like.  However, I do have one very strong preference.  If it’s not something that you’d be adverse to, I would very much like to be fucked.”

Henry’s eyebrows shot up.  “Oh.  That’s –”

Mark smiled.  “A little blunt?”

“I was going to say, that’s not something I’ve done before.”

Mark closed his eyes and tilted his head back, as if seeking help from a higher power.  “Red,” he growled, sounding exasperated.  Henry could sympathize.

With a sigh, Mark looked back at Henry.  “Any aversions?”

“No,” Henry said quickly.  “Not if you don’t mind telling me what to do.  I don’t want to hurt you.”  Henry still remembered his first time with unfortunate clarity; there were occasions even now when he found it difficult for him to fully relax when he was being penetrated.

Mark clenched his teeth, like he was holding back words, before nodding.  “Come here,” he said, and Henry went to stand in front of him without hesitation.

Moving with quick, practiced movements, Mark unbuttoned Henry’s shirt, revealing the long johns underneath.  He paused.  “You’re still wearing long johns?”

Henry tensed.  “Shouldn’t I be?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Mark said.  “Except that you must be sweating yourself to death.  Most men stop wearing them in the summer.”

“Oh,” Henry said, feeling foolish.  Truthfully, he’d been tempted more than once to leave off the long johns, but it had seemed improper.  Now he was kicking himself.

Mark shrugged.  “No harm done.”  He began unbuttoning the long johns.  “But if you do ever have any questions about something like this, feel free to ask me.  I promise not to laugh or make fun.”

Henry briefly wondered how much “making fun” Mark had had to endure when he was younger, but the thought was lost as Mark latched his mouth onto one of Henry’s nipples and started sucking gently.

Everything they did that night was gentle, from the kisses that they exchanged to the instructions Mark gave as Henry prepared his body.

“Truth is, I don’t really need much preparation these days,” Mark commented as Henry carefully twisted his fingers.  “But it’s good for you to learn this for next time.”

Henry had just grunted in agreement and spread a good amount of the oil over his cock.  With just as much care as everything else he’d done up to that point, he eased his way into Mark’s body and began to thrust.

His first thought was how much more immediately _intense_ this felt to what he’d done with Red.  Not that being penetrated had been bad, once he’d gotten used to it.  It was just a different sensation, requiring a bit more attention on his part, a bit more focus to achieve orgasm.

He certainly didn’t need to focus to achieve orgasm now; in fact, he found himself with the opposite problem, having to imagine increasingly unpleasant images not to come before Mark.

“Mark,” he finally groaned when he felt his control was starting to slip.

Mark was biting his lower lip, his eyes unfocused and blissful.  When he didn’t respond, Henry repeated, sharper, “ _Mark_.”

“Hm?”  Mark blinked his eyes a couple of times, then focused on Henry.  “Yes?”

“What do I do now?”

“Oh, you’re doing just lovely,” Mark said dreamily.

“ _Mark!_ ”

Mark sighed.  “Try angling your cock upward a bit.”

The concentration it took to do that properly helped pulled Henry back from the edge.  “Like that?”

“Close.  Try a few different angles.”

Henry felt a bit ridiculous doing so, but he started poking his cock in different directions.

Suddenly Mark stiffened.  “ _There,_ ” he hissed.  “Right there.”

Henry realized belatedly what he’d been hunting for: he remembered seeing stars the first time Red had hit that spot in Henry’s own body.  “Can you come from this?”

“Maybe.  If you’re getting impatient, though, you can use your hand on my cock.”

Well past impatient now, Henry grabbed Mark’s penis and started pulling it sharply.  It took a couple of dozen pulls before Mark arched upward, spurting his seed over his chest.

With a sob of relief, Henry let go of the tight control he’d held on his own body and came almost immediately, rutting forward the whole time to drag out the sensation.

Then, exhausted, Henry collapsed on top of Mark.

“Enjoy yourself?” Mark asked, sounding smug.

Henry grunted, already half asleep.

“No you don’t,” Mark said, and there was a suddenly something sharp and unpleasant poking Henry in his side.  “You can’t sleep here.  Not even a nap.  Up.  Come on now, get up.”

The poking increased in intensity until Henry groaned and rolled over.  Unfortunately he’d forgotten just how small the bed was, and he ended up on the floor.

Fully awake now, Henry opened his eyes to see Mark leaning over the side of the bed, laughing.

“That was not funny,” Henry said sternly.

“Of course not,” Mark said, his eyes twinkling and his lips twitching.  “Not funny at all.”

Henry tried to get irritated, but feeling as good as he did, he wasn’t particularly successful.  “You could at least help me up.”

Mark promptly did so, with exaggerated solemnity.  “While you were down there, you should have taken the opportunity to pick up your clothes.”

Henry smacked him on the arm.  Mark grinned and smacked back.

What followed was distinctly lacking in any degree of masculine dignity.

Eventually they managed to get dressed.  With each piece of clothing he put on, Mark had grown more serious, until he stood fully clothed and sober as a judge.  Henry mourned the loss, though he understood the reasoning behind it.

“Thank you for dinner,” Henry said once they were back in the kitchen, the secret room safely sealed away.  “I enjoyed every moment.”

Mark smiled fondly.  “So did I.  Please, come back any time.  You’re always welcome here.”

Henry felt a powerful warmth bloom in his chest, unlike anything he’d ever felt before.  It was a lovely, addictive feeling and he was almost home when finally realized what it was.

Happiness.


	10. Chapter 10

The month after Henry left was sheer misery.

Every morning, Red woke up to a cold and empty bed.  He made too much food and fed most of it to the pigs.  He tended the animals and the garden and did the laundry, and was reminded every time how much he hated doing laundry.  He hauled the water and chopped the wood and the work on the fence slowed down to a crawl again, though it still went a little faster than before, because Red was working morning, noon, and night.  Anything to make him tired enough at the end of the day to be able to sleep.

He never would have guessed that he’d miss Henry this much.  When Henry had been around, Red had considered him a person in need more than anything else, someone for whom Red was doing a favor.  On his very best days, Henry was a convenience, one which Red appreciated, but certainly not something Red needed.

Now, though, Red found himself missing the look of concentration on Henry’s face when he learned a new task.  The way Henry’s face lit up every time they went for a ride up to the ridge and saw the entire valley spread out before them.  The sobbing little breath Henry made every time Red pushed into him.  The way he listened while Red told him everything he knew about Montana.  The quiet chuckles he let out when reading one of his books, the one with the blue cover.  The way the sun lit his light brown eyes in the morning, turning them the prettiest shade of gold.

All of that was gone now, leaving Red behind, strangely discontent.  Even the two tasks that had once been his favorite – tallying the ranch’s accounts to see the month’s profit and tagging the new lambs to see how far his herd had grown – had lost their flavor.

A little more than a month after Henry left, it came time to deliver the next batch of mutton to Butte.  It was a bittersweet venture: he appreciated the funds and the trip was a good excuse to get off the ranch for a bit.  But he couldn’t help but remember that Henry had planned on going on this trip, having agreed to help Red haul the wagon through the bridgeless gully now that the spring flood had passed and the wash was once again passable. 

Red had to manage the wagon himself this time, now that he no longer had a second horse to use as a pack animal.  He did stop by the horse dealer in Butte to consider the stock, but nothing looked at all appealing to him and he finally turned away with his funds still intact.

On the way back from Butte, a sudden urge struck him and he went south at the crossroads next to Copper Creek instead of north and found himself in the middle of town.  A few questions were sufficient to direct him to the new schoolhouse.  Red was surprised to see how far along it was; last he’d heard, the school was one of those projects that everyone talked about but nobody actually started.

The building site itself was thronged with onlookers.  Once Red had forced his way through the crowd, it was easy to see the attraction.  Standing next to the half-finished skeleton of the future school stood Henry and Mark, their eyes sparking as they squabbled over what sounded like the placement of a window.  Henry had filled out even further in the weeks since Red had seen him last and his stunning face was alive with health and good humor.  Next to him, Mark was a study in contrasts: shorter and leaner, with bright blond hair next to Henry’s brown and dark blue eyes next to Henry’s light brown ones.  They were both breathtakingly beautiful and the gaggle of women clustered around the school had clearly noticed.

Not that it’d do them any good; Henry and Mark had eyes only for each other.  Even when they were fighting, the affection in their voices was clear and something deep inside Red was shredded as he realized that while he’d been mourning the loss of Henry, Henry had been finding love in another man’s arms.

Gutted, Red slipped back through the crowd and hurried away.

~~~

After his unfortunate trip to town, Red firmly decided that he was done missing Henry Longfellow.  No more pining, no more regrets.  The very next morning when he woke up, he turned onto his back and reached for his cock.  It didn’t take him any longer than it had before to come and it was just as satisfying as he remembered.  Not as satisfying as it had been with Henry, maybe, but he wasn’t thinking about Henry anymore.

Though it still bothered him that he didn’t know why Henry had left in the first place.  Everything had been going well, hadn’t it?  Henry hadn’t complained about anything and Red had been careful not to give Henry more work than he could handle or more work than Red himself had taken on.  And when it came to fucking, Red had always made sure Henry had come.  Admittedly, Red sometimes got a little caught up in things and lost track of Henry’s responses, but surely Henry would have said something if Red hadn’t been keeping him satisfied.

No, it had to be something else.  Something that Mark Tanner had noticed, though it galled Red that Mark had seen something in minutes that Red hadn’t noticed after living with Henry for months.  It was something that bothered Mark, too, because he decided to cut off contact with Red as well.

What the fuck was that something?

Not that it mattered, because Red was done thinking about Henry.  He didn’t think of Henry when he worked on the garden.  He didn’t think of Henry when he cleaned out Hyperion’s now empty stall.  He didn’t think of Henry when he milked the old cow – not even when he noticed the annoying beast was giving less milk that she had before.  He most certainly didn’t think of Henry when he was cooking smaller meals and he absolutely, definitely was not thinking of Henry when he crawled into bed every night.

Eventually he admitted to himself that not thinking about Henry was getting exhausting.

Fortunately, he had a distraction to look forward to: the Wilkinson dance, which was held every year on the fourth of July.  It was one of the favorite dances in Copper Creek, no matter who you enjoyed spending time with, because the Wilkinson ranch was covered in small caves and winding paths that were ideal for lovers seeking a moment of privacy.  The only reason why it wasn’t the most attended dance in town was the fact that wary mothers forbade their children from attending, and more than a few wary wives did the same with their husbands.

From Red’s perspective, the only downside of the Wilkinson dance was that when everyone was looking for a place to hide, hiding places had a tendency to be found.  While a young gal and her beau might find themselves in for a whipping if they were caught, the punishment for Red and his ilk would be much worse.  To be on the safe side, Red and his friends usually worked together during the Wilkinson dance, with Jack and David often conscripted to act as lookouts.

Red wasn’t sure how much enjoyment he was going to find in this dance.  With him on the outs with both Henry and Mark, that just left Chris and Hank and while Red would never breathe it to a living soul, he found Hank’s foot obsession a little off-putting.

Still.  He could dance, if nothing else, and the day when dancing with another man lost all appeal was the day that Red laid down and died, because on that day there would be no hope left in the world.

Thus it was with his hair freshly washed and his best pressed pair of trousers on that Red headed east through the mountain pass to the Wilkinson ranch.  This route was shorter than the path through town, but it was still a bit of a trek through rather unusual terrain, and more than once Red found himself about to point out a curious plant or a rare rock formation.  He stopped himself firmly each time and did not think about Henry.  At all.

As usual, he timed his arrival so that the party was in full swing by the time he put his horse in the corral.  He walked around the side of the barn, following the sound of music, and came upon a great mass of dusty people, all shifting in time to the enthusiastic screeches of a fiddler and a banjo attempting to outpace each other.

Red let his eyes run over the crowd, looking for Chris’s tousled brown hair or Hank’s neat black locks.  He found neither, as his eye instead landed on a familiar mop of blond hair.  Right next to it was a head of beautiful brown hair that caused a pang of affection to spear Red’s heart, even if the hair was starting to get a bit overlong.

He’d cut Henry’s hair for him, over the winter.  Henry had been nervous at the start, but had eventually relaxed so far as to fall asleep under Red’s hands.  The sweet smile on Henry’s face as Red had woken him up remained one of Red’s fondest memories.

Dammit, now he was thinking of Henry again!

For a brief moment, Red seriously considered turning around and leaving.  If it weren’t for the gossip that would cause he would have done it, but the last time Red had missed a dance was because he was in bed, nearly delirious with the flu.  Mark, suspecting something along those lines, had sent a doctor to the ranch.  That act of kindness had probably saved Red’s life.

That was a good thought to focus on.  Mark had saved Red’s life and his sanity, more than once.  It would be churlish to run away now, just because Henry had apparently found Mark a better companion than Red. 

Unfortunately, this put paid to the whole ‘don’t think about Henry’ plan.  Red was trying to come up with an alternate strategy when an overlong head of brown hair appeared in front of him.

“Hello, Red,” Henry said in an impressively even voice.

“Henry,” Red said, trying to sound natural, but certain his voice came out about two octaves too low.  “I wasn’t sure I’d see you here today.”

Henry shrugged and looked away.  “Mark talked me into coming.”

Red nodded.  Eventually he thought to say, “It’s good to see you.”

Henry smiled slightly at that.  “It’s good to see you, too.  You look really good.”

“You do, too,” Red said, and he’d never meant anything more in his life.  Henry smiled again, but it quickly fell off his face and he looked to the side, as if he was thinking of leaving.  Red blurted out, “I heard the schoolhouse is coming along well.  You’re almost done, right?”

“Still have the roof and the windows and the painting to do on the exterior,” Henry said, looking a bit more relaxed.  “Then we have to build a wall on the inside, for the school teacher’s room.  I’m looking forward to that,” he added.  “The town doesn’t pay nearly as well as you did.”

It was on the tip of Red’s tongue to invite Henry back, to promise to double his pay or reduce his chores or give him another horse.  Before he had a chance, however, Mark appeared at Henry’s side.

“Hi, Red,” Mark said, sounding the same as he always had.

Red nodded coolly.  “Mark.”

If Mark noticed the change in Red’s demeanor, he made no indication of it as he turned straight to Henry.  “Henry, I’ve been abandoned by Chris, and the ladies are swarming.”

“Right,” Henry said.  “Sorry, Red, but I promised Mark if he wore the strip that I would make sure he didn’t have to dance with anyone he didn’t want to.”

“Oh,” Red said.  He tried to come up with something to add that would make Henry want to stay, but his imagination failed him and his mouth stayed shut.

“It was good to see you, Red.”

“You, too,” Red said.  “Henry –”

“I have to go,” Henry said gently.  “I’m sure I’ll see you in town, though.  Come by the schoolhouse, if you want.  Anytime.”

“I’ll do that,” Red said roughly, and then it was too late to find the right words to say, because Henry was gone.

~~~

The rest of the dance was a disappointment for Red.  Not only did he not get the chance to talk to Henry again, but halfway through the dance he saw Hank, Chris, Jack, and David all wander out at the same time.  He doubted he’d see any of them back again before the dance was done.

There was nothing left to do but to find a few dancing partners.  He managed to get lost in the music and the movement of people for an hour or two, dancing with a string of lads and one lady who had failed him by not coming up with an excuse fast enough to say no.  It wasn’t a terrible evening, but he was glad enough to leave when the sun started heading toward the horizon.

~~~

The next two weeks passed by in a blur, as Red worked night and day to keep up with the minimal necessary daily chores of the ranch, while still putting in several hours a day on the fence.  When he finally dug the last fencepost and arranged the last side bars of the fence, aside from the gate which would come later, Red felt a tired swell of accomplishment and, disregarding the noonday sun, went back to the cabin to sleep for eighteen hours straight.

When he woke, he was at a loss as to what to do.  Catching up on chores that he’d put off while finishing the fence – like laundry – held no appeal, and the chores that needed to be done immediately would take no more than an hour or two.  Faced with an unusual amount of free time and with no unfinished project to fill it, Red finally settled on riding the fences.  It was unlikely anything had gotten damaged in the week or so since he’d done it last, but the thought of riding out through the pastures was a suddenly appealing one.

He rushed through his morning chores, putting out a bit more food for the animals than usual to make up for the lack of a feeding the night before, before saddling up the mare and riding out into the mountains.

Truth be told, Red barely looked at the fence, being too busy enjoying his surroundings.  It had been a long time since he’d been in the mood to enjoy the world he lived in and he was determined to get the most out of his sudden good mood.

That determination stayed with him right up to the moment where he looked over the fence to see Henry on the other side.


	11. Chapter 11

Henry was starting to feel cursed by ingratitude.  When he was living in San Francisco, he’d had a steady income and a profession he loved, but no human touch.  When he was at Red’s, he’d had passion and intensity, but no tenderness or meeting of the minds.  And now, in Copper Creek, he had a tender lover and the prospect of shaping impressionable minds in the near future, but no passion.

It wasn’t that Henry didn’t like spending time with Mark.  He did.  Mark was funny and sophisticated and experienced.  Maybe not as widely read as Henry, but he was always happy to try a new book if Henry suggested it, and they had spent many a leisurely night discussing Mark’s reading while trying a new vintage that Mark wanted to share.

And when they were done with their discussion, they always retired to the hidden room in the kitchen where they proceeded to have very tender, very careful sex.

Henry sighed.  It wasn’t that he was opposed to tenderness or carefulness, but every time he thought back to the intimacies he shared with Mark, the only word that came to mind was ‘polite’.  Polite was a fine word, but really not one that Henry found terribly satisfying with regards to activities of the bedroom. 

Red on the other hand – Red could be selfish and rough at times, but he was never, ever polite.  When Henry thought back to his carnal relations with Red, he thought of words like ‘passionate’ and ‘intense’.  ‘Amazing’ and ‘unforgettable’ also came to mind.  Certainly he was having a tough time forgetting Red at the moment, and since he was currently walking home from his lover’s bed, Red should be the last person on his mind.

“Mr. Longfellow.”

Henry jumped, and spun around the find Sheriff Winchester standing next to him.

“Sorry, Sheriff, you startled me.  Is everything okay?”

The sheriff eyed him for a moment before tilting his head in the direction of downtown.  “If you have a moment to spare, I think you and I need to have a little chat.”

Henry’s heart skipped a beat.  Clearing his throat, he picked his words carefully as he asked, “Can you tell me what we’d be chatting about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” the sheriff said easily.  “Come on, now.  Sooner we get started, sooner you can get back home.”

At least the sheriff was assuming that Henry would be returning to his home after the discussion.  That was something.  Then again, Henry had no idea what the laws on sodomy were in Montana.  For all he knew, the condemned man was allowed a last night to leave town before being hung from the nearest gallows.

By the time they got to the sheriff’s office, Henry was a nervous wreck.  It didn’t help that when he entered the office, he found that there was just a single chair in the room, behind the sheriff’s desk.

“Why don’t you take the chair, son,” the sheriff said genially.  “You look like you need it more than I do.”

“Thank you,” Henry managed, hoping his voice sounded less feeble than it did in his head.

“Now then, do you know why I called you in here?”

“No?”  Damn, that came out as a question.  Henry cleared his throat and tried again.  “No.”

The sheriff stared at him for a moment.  Henry stared back and did his best not to sweat nervously.

“Does the name Emmaline Hamlin sound familiar to you?”

All of the breath left Henry’s air in a rush.  “Emmaline?” he repeated, hearing his voice go high enough that it nearly cracked.  “Of course I know who Emmaline is.  She was my fiancée.”

Sheriff Winchester looked, if at all possible, more grim.  “And do you know where she might be?”

Henry forgot to be nervous as he gaped.  “San Francisco, I presume.  That’s where she was when I left.”

The sheriff eyed Henry for a moment as he settled himself against the edge of the desk, which creaked under the sheriff’s bulk.  “Thing is, no one’s seen hide nor hair of her since then.”

Henry bolted to his feet.  “ _What_?  Oh, God.  Poor Adeline must be frantic.  What have they done to find her?  They haven’t –”  He choked a little as his throat suddenly tightened.  “They haven’t found a body, have they?”

“No body,” the sheriff said, looking a little more relaxed.  “I do understand that her parents are distraught –”

“Of course they are!  Emmaline was their only child.  Adeline adored her and Horatio – he would have moved mountains if she’d asked.”  Henry started pacing.  “I just don’t understand.  She was fine when I last saw her.  If she’d seen any strangers about, she would have told me, I’m sure she would have.”  Henry stopped abruptly and turned to Sheriff Winchester.  “Wait.  How do you even know about the Hamlins?”

The sheriff eyed him for a moment before passing over a folded piece of paper.   Henry took it and went to the lamp by the door to read the spiky print:

> _Attn: Law Officers_
> 
> _Emmaline Hamlin disappeared from San Francisco CA August 2 1864 STOP Last seen with Henry Longfellow STOP  Forward any information on Hamlin or Longfellow to Horatio Hamlin San Francisco CA STOP  Reward offered  STOP_

“When did you get this?” Henry asked after he’d read through the telegram twice.

“Just today.  If I had to guess, they probably sent one out right away when the girl went missing but it didn’t get forwarded the way it was supposed to because people thought it was a prank.  Law officers aren’t fond of pranksters.”

“I guess they aren’t,” Henry said absently; it wasn’t the first time people thought he was making a joke when he told them his name.  “But if that was the case, why did this one get through?”

“There’s a code law officers can use when sending a telegram.  Civilians aren’t supposed to be able to use it, so if this was sent with that code, no one would think to question it.”

“Horatio Hamlin is one of the foremost defense lawyers in San Francisco.  He undoubtedly has sufficient connections to have this sent with whatever code it needed.  I’m not sure why he waited so long to send it a second time, though.”

“He probably didn’t realize the first one went awry till now.  Not sure how he found out this time, unless he somehow happened upon a law officer who didn’t receive the telegram and told him as much.”

Henry considered it highly unlikely that Horatio Hamlin had done anything of the sort.  However, it was very possible that he’d hired a private investigator to search for Emmaline.  If that was the case, the detective might have been the one to learn the telegram hadn’t reached its destinations.

Handing the telegram back, Henry sank back down into the chair.  “So what happens now?”

“You claim not to know where this Hamlin girl is, and I’m inclined to believe you,” the sheriff said, to Henry’s immense relief.  “That said, word is spreading that the new schoolteacher in Copper Creek is named Henry Longfellow.  You can’t hide here.”

Henry swallowed hard.  Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a position to leave town anytime soon.  He’d ended up spending far more of his savings than he’d hoped while working on the schoolhouse and had, in fact, moved into the schoolhouse last week, despite the fact that the interior of the building wasn’t ready yet.  He hadn’t had a choice; if he hadn’t found a way to save on lodgings, he would have had to choose between selling Hyperion or giving up food.

Even if he did have the money to leave town, where would he go?  Changing his name would only be a short-term solution, because Horatio had a photograph of Henry and Emmaline.  It couldn’t be long now before the west was papered with his likeness.

“I understand,” he finally said.  “Thank you for telling me about this.  Are you going to send a telegram to Mr. Hamlin?”

“I’m afraid I don’t have much choice.  However, as far as I’m concerned, you’ve been cleared of suspicion and that’s what I’ll put in the telegram.”

That wasn’t quite what Henry had hoped for, but it was probably the best he could get.  “Thank you, sir.”

“You’re welcome, son.  Have a nice night, now.”

As Henry left the sheriff’s office and made his way through the uneven light of the street fires, he thought it would be a long time indeed before he had another nice night.

~~~

For the next two weeks, Henry felt like he was living under the sword of Damocles.  Every day when he woke up, he wondered if this was the day that Horatio Hamlin would storm into town and haul Henry off in chains.  Every night when he went to bed, he wondered if that was the last night he would spend as a free man.

Mark noticed Henry’s distraction almost immediately, but Henry couldn’t bring himself to tell the sordid tale again.  Certainly not to Mark, who was so self-possessed and in control of his life.  How could Henry tell a man like Mark that not only had Henry somehow gotten engaged without his knowledge or consent, but the only way he could find out of the situation was to run away in the night like a thief or a coward?

It might be different if it was Red asking.  Not that Henry could imagine Red running away from anything, but he could see Red getting engaged and not knowing how.  Of course, if Red had somehow managed to get himself engaged, he probably would have found a way to turn the entire mess on its head and end up a happily married man with a gaggle of kids and a harem of men that warmed his bed while his wife was out visiting.

In the light of day, Henry knew he’d made the right decision leaving Red’s ranch, but in the dark hours of the night Henry missed Red like he’d miss a limb.

~~~

On the anniversary of his flight from San Francisco, Henry took the day off from helping Mark with the final touches on the schoolhouse.  In the early morning he packed a flask of water and a small lunch, saddled Hyperion, and rode up into the mountains. 

He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, but it probably shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did to come across a wooden fence.  In a county dominated by open range, there were only a handful of places where one could find fences.  As far as Henry knew, only one of those places had sheep.

He almost turned around and headed back to town.  He almost turned the other way to head to Red’s ranch.  He never knew which direction he would have gone, however, because as he sat there on Hyperion, conflicted, he heard a familiar voice shout his name.

Henry closed his eyes in exasperation.  Red rode the fences once a month, if that.  Sometimes Henry couldn’t believe his luck.

“Henry,” Red called again as he pulled up on the opposite side of the fence.  “I wasn’t expecting to see you today.”

Henry dearly wanted to say something sarcastic in reply, but it wasn’t Red’s fault that Henry showed up at his fence, so Henry forced himself to smile.  “I wasn’t expecting it myself; I was letting Hyperion go where he wanted and clearly he wanted to come back here.”

Red grinned.  “Guess he’s earned a carrot from me.  Want to come back to the cabin so I can give him his treat?”

Henry was astonished by the wave of longing he felt at the thought of returning to Red’s cabin.  It was such a powerful feeling that he almost said no instinctively, because something that he wanted that desperately couldn’t be safe.

In the end, however, the draw of the cabin was too strong.  “Of course,” he said, patting Hyperion’s neck to cover his nervousness.  “I’d love to.”

The ride back was mostly silent, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.  Red did spend a lot of time shooting glances in Henry’s direction, but he was smiling more often than not so Henry figured Red wasn’t regretting the invitation.  For his own part, Henry found himself content to ride at Red’s side and enjoy the beautiful land that surrounded them.

Once in the barn, Red laid down straw in Hyperion’s old stall before producing the promised carrot.  Hyperion snatched the vegetable with unseemly haste and nearly knocked Red over in his search for other treats.  Henry blushed as Red looked over with raised eyebrows.  “Money’s a bit tight at the moment,” he admitted.  “Not as much left for treats as Hyperion would like.”

Red opened his mouth, hesitated, then said, “I bet he’d like some oats, then.”

Flushing even deeper, Henry tried to protest, but Red would have none of it.  “It’s just a cup of oats,” Red said as he dumped a large scoopful into Hyperion’s trough.  “Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to feed the mare and not him.”  A much more reasonable scoop was given to the black horse.

Henry found himself with an inexplicable lump in his throat and he had to swallow a couple of times before he could speak.  “Thanks, Red.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” Red said, shoving the scoop back into the feed barrel.  “Come on, I’ve got coffee inside.”

Once inside the cabin, Henry looked over the familiar rooms, feeling a wash of nostalgia as memories came rushing in.  The snowshoes reminded him of the horrible snow walking lessons, softened now by the passage of time into something amusing and sweet.  The kitchen table was where Henry and Red had talked and shared meals and occasionally fucked.  The hard-backed chair was where Red had punished Henry after the cooking disaster; even now Henry’s groin tightened at the memory and part of him regretted his hasty decision to never try cooking again.

“Food’s ready,” Red said, and Henry snapped out of fond remembrances to see that Red had prepared a full breakfast while Henry had been lost in his thoughts.

“You didn’t have to –” Henry started weakly, though his mouth was watering at the sight of the eggs and bacon and beans and toast.  He hadn’t been starving himself since leaving Red’s home but with money as tight as it was, he’d had to be careful with funds and there were more nights than not when he polished his supper plate and still went to bed hungry.

“I hadn’t had breakfast yet,” Red said, pulling down the plates.  “And it’s just as easy to make food for two as it is for one.”

Maybe as easy, but certainly not as cheap.  Henry had a hard-earned understanding of the price of victuals now, and he’d never again take for granted Red’s generosity with food.  “Thank you,” he said sincerely, and sat down to the feast.

As they ate, they talked.  Henry heard how the ranch was faring and about the progress of the new lamb crop.  In exchange, he updated Red on all of the goings on in town, including the nearly finished schoolhouse.

“We’re going to start classes next week,” Henry added.

“That early?  The harvest hasn’t even started yet.”

“Most of the children on the ranches and farms probably won’t be able to come,” Henry admitted.  “Though some might – Gertrude McNally promised her youngest would be there and she said she’d talk to the other ranchers.  Most of the kids in town will be attending, however, and the hope is that the early start this year can make up for how much schooling the kids missed while they were looking for a replacement for Miss Dahl.”

Red still looked a bit dubious, but he merely asked, “Are you ready?”

Since that was the very question Henry had been hoping Red wouldn’t ask, he poked at his mostly-empty plate for a moment before pushing it away with a sigh and admitting, “I don’t know.  My parents handled all of my education in San Francisco, up till they apprenticed me at Hamlin and Hamlin.”

Red looked taken aback.  “But you read all the time.  Sometimes not even in English!”

Henry smiled.  “My parents placed a high value on education.  They’d hoped that I’d become a great orator someday, and work towards stricter laws.”  His smile slipped and his eyes dropped down to study the surface of the table.  “They thought San Francisco was turning into a den of immorality and corruption, especially the sailors who brought in their boom cover trade.”

“Boom cover trade?”

“It’s what sailors call it when two men copulate.  Usually under the cover of the booms on deck.”

“Oh.  They didn’t know that you were a Mary?”

Henry laughed humorlessly.  “Of course not.  I didn’t know myself till I was nearly twenty.  Before that, I just thought I was naturally choosy when it came to women.  Then one day, I saw a soldier in the street and I felt a craving unlike anything I’d ever felt before.”  He shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious as he ran a fingernail over the edge of the smooth table surface.  “I didn’t even know what I was craving, but that night I dreamt about the soldier and the next morning my sheets were soiled.  I’d already mostly stopped going to church by then, but after that I couldn’t imagine darkening a church door.”

There was an awkward silence.  “Henry …” Red finally started.

“What about you?” Henry said quickly, forcing himself to look up.  “When did you know?”

For a moment Red just stared at him, his face an odd study of determination and uncertainty.  Finally he sighed and his features smoothed out.  “When I was twelve, me and Boyd McNally were wrestling out in the barn.  By the time I got him pinned, I was hard.”

Henry tried to imagine that and failed.  He’d barely had any contact with other children when he was twelve; most of his early teen years had been spent in intense study as his parents prepared Henry for his apprenticeship.

“I’d gotten hard a few times before,” Red continued.  “But I didn’t know what it meant and if I ignored it, it went away.  This time, though, I happened to rub against Boyd and –” he shuddered “– it was the most amazing feeling.  So I kept on rubbing.”

“What did Boyd do?”

“Shoved me off and punched me in the face.  He was crying and he looked scared and he ran off the moment he was free.”  Red sighed.  “I didn’t see much of the McNally boys after that.”

“What about girls?” Henry asked.  “How did you know you didn’t like them?”

“I tried them a couple of times when I got a bit older.  I managed to come – when I was sixteen I could come if the wind blew in the right direction – but it wasn’t at all satisfying.  Then one day I caught Mark out in the woods, playing with himself, and I knew.”

Henry swallowed.  He hadn’t realized how long Red and Mark had known each other.  “Was that the first time you two had sex?”

“If you can call it that,” Red said with a grin.  “He caught me staring and told me that I could either come out and help, or go away.  He about fell over in surprise when I came out.  Took a pull and a half to finish him off and I didn’t do much better.”  He looked down, all of the humor and animation falling away.  “For a couple of years, it was just me and Mark.  We used to meet up in the woods between the ranch and the town and play with each other.  Looking back, it was a miracle we never got caught.  Some days we’d spend the whole day fucking.”

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered.

Red looked up at that.  “What for?”

“I know you’re fighting,” Henry said.  He almost added ‘because of me’, but decided that sounded too much like pride.

Red hesitated.  “I do miss Mark,” he admitted.  Then he locked his eyes on Henry.  “But I miss you more.”

Henry felt his cheeks burning, but he refused to look away.  “I miss you, too,” he admitted softly.

“Then why did you go?” Red whispered.

“Oh, Red.”  Henry rubbed his stinging eyes.  “It seems stupid when I think back to it, but at the time –”

“What?” Red asked in a pained voice.  “What did I do wrong?”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.  It was me.  I should have told you that – that –” Henry gritted his teeth.  “That I don’t like having my head held!”

Red stilled.  “You don’t like having your head held?”

“When we’re having sex,” Henry clarified.

Red looked horrified.  “I held your head all the time!”

“I know,” Henry said bitterly.  It wasn’t Red’s fault, not when Henry had never told him how much he hated it, but it was hard to completely let go of the resentment.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Red roared.

Henry flinched back for a moment before he straightened his spine.  “Because you were my first!  Because I thought that was how it was supposed to be!  Because I didn’t want to leave!”

Red’s face had gotten progressively darker as Henry spoke, but on the last word he seemed to catch himself and when he spoke his voice was mostly calm.  “Because you didn’t want to leave?”

Henry sighed, feeling weary.  “You told me when I was first hired on that if I didn’t like one of your orders, I was welcome to leave.”

The brief moment of calm disappeared in an instant; Red looked thunderous.  “You thought I was _ordering_ you to fuck me?”

“You _were_ ordering me to _be_ fucked,” Henry said bluntly.  “But I don’t think you realized it at the time and since I never said no, you had no way of knowing that I didn’t like it.”

The blood drained from Red’s face, leaving him looking pale as a ghost.  “You didn’t like it?” he rasped.

“No, sorry, that’s not what I –”  Henry stopped his babbling and took in a deep breath.  Letting it out slowly, he started over.  “I enjoyed what we did together, Red.”

“Everything we did together?” Red asked darkly.

Henry hesitated.  “Most of it.”

Red slumped back in his chair.  For the first time since Henry had met him, Red looked smaller than his actual size.  “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I wish I had,” Henry said honestly.

There was a long silence.

“I should get back to town,” Henry finally said.

“Of course,” Red answered, sounding weary.  “I’ll show you out.”

Red didn’t say a word as he saddled Hyperion and Henry bit his tongue rather than risk saying the wrong thing and making whole situation worse.  Mounting Hyperion was a challenge as the horse kept shying away in the direction of the barn and in the end Henry had to haul himself up on a moving horse.

By the time he got Hyperion under control and looked back to say goodbye, Red had already gone.


	12. Chapter 12

Red was done thinking about Henry Longfellow and this time he damn well meant it.  To think that the man had the gall to accuse Red of _ordering_ him to have sex!  Red had never heard anything so offensive in his life.  The very thought of forcing someone that way make him sick.

For a good two days after Henry left, Red rode high on indignation.  By the third day, however, he was having a hard time ignoring the memories that were insistently trickling in.  They started with the first time Red had told Henry to get on his knees which, in retrospect, might have sounded like an order.  Then he remembered Henry’s hesitation before doing so and the way he kept his hands at his sides the entire time he’d been sucking Red’s cock.  Or the way Henry, still shaking with cold from the snowshoeing, had hesitated to go into the bedroom until Red had order – _strongly suggested_ that he get into the bed.  The way that Henry kept his hands away from Red’s head when Red was sucking Henry’s cock, until Red himself had taken Henry’s hands and put them where they clearly wanted to be.

And when he thought about Henry’s saying that he’d enjoyed _most_ of what he and Red had done together, Red couldn’t help remembering that time in March, when he’d taken Henry out to the barn.  They’d already had sex twice that morning, but Henry hadn’t made any protest when Red had tied his hands and tossed the free end of the rope over one of the roof rafters.  Red had pulled the rope so tight that Henry was barely balanced on the very tips of his toes by the time Red tied off the free end, leaving his body completely open and vulnerable.   Red had made the most of the vulnerability, teasing Henry’s nipples and balls, lashing his ass and back with a handful of long straws, and eventually lifting Henry up till his feet no longer touched the floor, so that when Red fucked him, Henry was held up by nothing more than his hands and Red’s cock.

It was one of the most powerful sexual moments of Red’s life but, looking back, he found himself uncomfortably reminded of how quiet Henry had been.  Aside from one moment when Henry had sounded like he was coming, Red couldn’t remember Henry saying a single word, despite the fact that Henry had unwound enough to be very vocal about sex at that point.  And when Red thought about that one brief bit of shouting, it started to sound a little forced in his mind.  Henry had been soft by the end, Red was sure about that, but only now did it occur to him that Henry might never have been hard.

After that unpleasant realization, Red found himself fretting anytime he wasn’t actively working.  When he ran out of chores to do, he paced outside in the yard or chopped up extra firewood, even though he’d already laid in enough to last the winter.  Finally, he rode into town and collected Hank and over the next week the two of them rebuilt the bridge over the wash.  As always, they indulged in carnal relations in the evenings, but for the first time in Red’s life, his cock didn’t demand more than Hank was interested in giving.  Actually, there was a time or two where Red’s cock declined to show much interest in the proceedings at all, and as Red stuck a foot into Hank’s lap to distract him, he found himself with a visceral understanding of why Henry left.

The moment the bridge was built, Red sent Hank back to town, to Hank’s obvious surprise.  Red used his monthly delivery to Butte as an excuse for why he was skipping his usual day or two of indulgence after a big project and Hank left without too much of a fuss.  For that, Red was grateful, and he was even more grateful when he loaded up the wagon to go to Butte.  With the new bridge, the crossing over the wash took a few seconds, rather than a few hours. 

One day, when a heavy storm forced him inside, Red found himself at loose ends.  He’d already tidied the cabin the day before and he’d finished the last of his mending two days before that.  Finally, in desperation, he went to the mantle and picked up the slim book that had been sitting there collecting dust since Henry had left.  Turning up the lamp, he brought it over to the kitchen table and settled down to read.

_Evangeline_ hadn’t gotten any better or easier to read since the last time Red had tried it, though there was some improvement once the poem stopped gushing over how wonderful the Acadians were and started focusing on the love between Evangeline and Gabriel.  That section was downright enjoyable to read and Red found himself sharply reminded of his days with Henry, before he had understood how differently he and Henry had viewed that time together.

Then he reached the point in the poem where the king’s soldiers came to take back Acadie and he lost all patience with everyone involved, from the men who sat docilely in the church for days on end, to the women who packed up their belongings without a word of protest.  He especially hated the priest, who stopped the hint of rebellion growing among the men.  Red was dismayed when the priest survived while Evangeline’s father died.

Even when the subject matter was interesting, however, the poem itself was hard to read and Red rarely managed more than a page or two a night before his eyes or his patience were exhausted.  It was nearly the end of August when he reached the point in the poem where Gabriel passed by within a few feet of a hidden, sleeping Evangeline on his way out west, just when she’d finally gotten within hours of catching up to him.  Red had been so disgusted by them both that he’d tossed the book into the fire, only to regret it a moment later.  He managed to retrieve the book and stamp out the burning pages, though it cost him a few blisters and the cover of the book was hopelessly charred.  Grimly he had laid a towel on the table and opened the book once again.

He was nearly finished with the poem when the morning dawned on the day of the Skelton dance.  Red had been debating with himself for weeks as to whether he should attend.  On the one hand, there was a good chance that Chris and Hank would be at the dance and both would likely be in the mood for companionship.  On the other hand, Mark and Henry were both likely to be there as well, and the thought of seeing the two of them dancing and smiling at each other made Red’s stomach curdle.  Besides, his cock had been strangely quiet of late, even in the mornings when he first woke.  He didn’t doubt it would rise to the occasion if necessary, but it seemed a long way to ride just to put himself in a position of necessity.

In the end, he decided he’d rather finish the last of the poem.  Evangeline and Gabriel’s dad were currently working together to track Gabriel down and Red was confident that they would find him soon, thus redeeming all of the time and energy he’d poured into this miserable poem.  Determined to reach that happy ending, Red settled down at the kitchen table and began to read.

Seven hours later, he picked up the book and flung it across the room.

~~~

Red was still muttering disparaging curses about the poet Longfellow’s probable parentage the next morning when a knock at the door cut him off.  Surprised, Red glanced over to make sure the gun was in its usual place before opening the door.

Mark stood on the other side.  “Well.  At least you’re not dead.”

In retrospect, this visit was inevitable the moment Red skipped the dance.  He smothered a sigh and stepped back.  “Come on in, then.”  Once Mark did, Red added, “You and Henry draw straws?”

“Actually, Henry wasn’t sure he’d be welcome.”  Mark settled himself down at the table.  “But I’ve been wanting to come out for a while now; this just gave me an excuse.”

Red frowned.  “You don’t need an excuse to visit, Mark.  You’re welcome anytime.”

“I know,” Mark said, but he sounded pleased anyway.  “I’ve missed seeing you, Red.  You were always one of my favorites.”

Red flushed, feeling a squirmy warmth in his chest.  “Thanks.  But I wasn’t the one who decided to cut off relations.”

Mark inspected Red for a few moments before nodding.  “I was angry,” he admitted.  “But anger passes.  Besides, I spoke to Henry since then.  I know you weren’t the only one at fault.”

Red’s stomach plummeted at the sound of Henry’s name and he sank into a chair opposite Mark.  “He hates me,” Red said, the words slicing his throat like shards of glass as they came out.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Mark said, but Red barely heard the words.

“I can’t even blame him,” Red continued.  It felt like lancing a wound in his chest to say it.  Every word hurt like hell coming out, but as they were released the pressure that had been crushing his heart for weeks finally began to ease.  “He thought I was ordering him to have sex, did you know that?  He thought he couldn’t say no.”

“I know,” Mark sighed.

“He didn’t even –”  Red had to work his throat a couple of times before he could finish.  “He didn’t even _like_ it.”

 “Christ, the two of you.”  Mark sighed again.  “What a mess you’ve made.”  He eyed Red speculatively.  “When’s the last time you had sex?”

Red shrugged miserably.

“Don’t tell me it was the Gutenberg dance.”

Red looked away.  It wasn’t, but honestly his week with Hank had felt more like a chore than like true sex.  And knowing that that was how Henry had felt about sex with Red... he shuddered.

“Damn.”

Red heard the scraping sound of chair legs dragging against the floor.  He looked back to see Mark standing up with his hands on his hips.  “Come on,” Mark said, tilting his head toward the bedroom.  “You’ll think better once your balls are drained.”

For a moment, Red didn’t quite understand what Mark was saying.  Once the meaning sunk in, he felt a surge of indignation.  “What about Henry?”

“Henry doesn’t have a say in what I do anymore,” Mark said.  “Which you would have known if you’d come to the Skelton dance.  Come on, now.  I haven’t got all day.”  He turned and walked into the bedroom.

A second later, Red followed.

The sex was enjoyable enough, though normally after months of isolation, Red would be much more inventive and enthused about having a man in his bed than he was with Mark.  Still, Mark had been right; Red did think better once his balls were drained.

“I just finished reading _Evangeline_ ,” Red said once they finished.  He didn’t know why he said it, except maybe that it had taken up so much of his time recently, and there was no one else to tell other than the man currently lying on the bed next to him.

Mark groaned.  “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“For Henry,” Red admitted.  “I bought it months ago, before he left.”

“And what did you think?”

“It was terrible,” Red said.  “These two lovers were separated and didn’t find each other again until one was about thirty seconds away from death.  Then they got buried together.”

“Damn,” Mark said.  “I’m glad I didn’t let Henry talk me into reading it.”

Red bit his tongue.

“We’re going to have to talk about him eventually,” Mark pointed out.  “No point in putting it off.”

“How’s he doing now?” Red immediately asked.  It was a relief to be able to say the words; it felt like they’d been lodged behind his teeth for weeks.

“Well enough.  School’s started, so I don’t see him as much as I used to.  I hear Beth Landry decided to go back.”

Red snorted.  “I’m not surprised.  I bet all the mothers in town are picking up their sons and daughters right at the school door.”

“You’re probably right.  I know Gertrude McNally comes by at least once a week.”

Red frowned at that.  “You don’t think she’s angling for anything, do you?”

“I think Henry’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself,” Mark said pointedly.  “He’s gotten a lot stronger since he first came to town.”

Red wanted to argue, but he knew he didn’t have the right.  “What about teaching?  Is he enjoying it?”

“Yes,” Mark said instantly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so happy.”

Red’s heart sank.  Part of him had been hoping that Henry would hate his new job.  Maybe then he’d think about coming back to the ranch.

“What about you?  How are you doing?”

“Good,” Mark said.  “I’m thinking of going on a trip, actually, to San Francisco.”

Red turned his head to stare.  “What?”

“Henry’s told me a lot about the place.”  A small smile crossed over his face.  “Especially about the sailors.  Besides, I do quite a lot of business there; it might be helpful to meet my sellers face-to-face.”

“When would you leave?”

“Not until after the McNally dance,” Mark said.  “I wouldn’t want to miss that.”

Red couldn’t help himself; he grinned.  “I wouldn’t want you to miss it, either.”

“Amen, brother.  Amen.”

~~~

Mark left shortly after, leaving Red alone but much calmer and clearer headed than he had been before the visit.  He spent the next two days pondering Henry and what they shared and what might have driven Henry away.  He thought about what he wanted and about what he might be willing to give up, and finally he picked the copy of _Evangeline_ up off the floor and then went out to drag in the larger washtub.

Red took a long time in the bath, washing himself from top to bottom and even taking the time to clean behind his ears and between his toes.  He dried with care and spent extra time making sure his hair was neat.  He used more shaving cream than usual and paid close attention to make sure he didn’t nick himself.  By the time he pulled on trousers and a shirt fresh from the clothesline, he decided that he was as presentable as he could ever be.

Heart pounding in his chest, Red headed for Copper Creek.  The entire way there, he practiced what he would say to Henry, trying to find some argument that would sway the other man into coming home.  The longer he rode, the more rash his promises became, till he was ready to promise half his ranch and all of his heart, if only Henry would give Red one more chance.

In the end, all of that planning was wasted.  Red had barely stepped foot in Copper Creek before he heard the news: Henry Longfellow had been arrested for the kidnapping and murder of Emmaline Hamlin.


	13. Chapter 13

“I ruined everything.”  Henry twisted in his seat so he could flop back on the couch with a sigh.  The world looked different from this angle.  More cobwebby. 

Mark sighed heavily.

Henry winced.  “I’m sorry.  I know I’ve talked about this a lot in the last couple of weeks.”

“Really?  I hadn’t noticed.”

Henry sat back up.  “What I haven’t told you is how grateful I am that we can still be friends.”

Mark actually rolled his eyes at that.  “Why wouldn’t we be friends?  From what you told me, that was the only part of what happened between us that you liked.”

Henry winced again.  “It wasn’t that I didn’t like the sex,” he said weakly.  “It’s just –”

“You can’t stop thinking about Red.  I understand.”  Mark smiled ruefully.  “Besides, it’s probably for the best, anyway.  We were going to be in for a hell of a fight in a couple of weeks.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s when the Skelton dance is and I –” Mark paused for a moment, looking like he was carefully choosing his words “– I have certain expectations for the Skelton dance.”

Henry felt his stomach twist.  “Oh.”

“I’m not like Jack or David,” Mark said.  “I’m not built for monogamy.”

“Oh,” Henry said again.

Mark hesitated, then added.  “Something you might consider.  I was Red’s first.”

“Red mentioned that,” Henry said.  “He said that you were each other’s first and for a couple of years it was just the two of you.”

Mark smiled bitterly.  “Red wasn’t my first.  He wasn’t even my tenth.”  Henry’s shock must’ve shown on his face, because Mark added harshly, “No one makes assumptions about a man like Red.  Someone like us, on the other hand, it’s obvious what we are.  I’m guessing there’re enough women in San Francisco that you were safe from lonely men, but in Copper Creek – well, let’s just say I was cheaper than the whores.”

The look on Mark’s face as he spoke made Henry’s stomach hurt, but he forced himself to ask, “How old were you?”

“Twelve, when it started.”

Henry swore.

Mark bared his teeth in what was probably supposed to be a smile.  “Could have been worse.  I was older than a lot of the whores.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Henry said grimly.  “But how could you be with Red after that?  How could you be with anyone?”

“Honestly?” Mark leaned back in his chair, looking exhausted.  “They weren’t all awful, especially after the first few times.  Men feel protective of people they fuck.  And Red – Red did what I asked him to do and stopped when I asked him to stop.  He made me feel safe.  And once it became known that he and I were friends, well, that made me safe, too.  No one wants to piss off Red.”

Henry thought about the time when he saw Red pick up a full grown sheep and drop it over a fence.  The damn thing had weighed more than Henry, and it’d fought Red every step of the way.  Red had still made it look easy.  “I can believe it.”  He hesitated.  “Those men that hurt you – do they still bother you?”

“No.  Most of them have died or moved on by now.  And the couple that are left are old and feeble.  I could fight them off if I had to, but I haven’t had to in years.”

“So it’s not Hank or the others,” Henry said, feeling immensely relieved.

“I think it’s time to talk about something else, don’t you?”

Henry quickly agreed.

“How about school?  I understand you’re starting next week?”

“We are.  The mayor said it’s because the school was closed for so long, but I think Mrs. McNally had something to do with it.”  He felt his face warm as he added, “She stopped by the schoolhouse a few days ago and gave me money to buy new clothes.  Said it was an advance on my pay.”

Mark laughed.  It was a wonderful sound to hear, full of light and ease, with none of the darkness that had tainted their earlier conversation.  “I’m sure it was.  You’re lucky Mr. McNally is still alive, Henry.  That woman has clearly set her cap at you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Henry answered.  “I’m not sure what to do about her.”

“Pray,” Mark said instantly.  “Pray for Mr. McNally and that he lives for a very, very long time.”

~~~

The next morning, Henry got himself lost in the maze of tents that surrounded Copper Creek.  It took him over an hour and a dozen wrong sets of directions before he finally found one specific dirt-colored tent in a sea of dirt-colored tents.

Inside the tent, Henry closed his eyes and paused to breathe in the delicate scent of tea and the relative quiet of the canvas walls.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Henry opened his eyes and smiled.  “Hello, Miss Liu.”

“Hello, Mr. Longfellow.  What can I do for you?”

“I need clothes.  A suit, if you have it.”

“I have just the thing.”  Miss Liu flipped the measuring tape off her neck.  “But first, we need to take some measurements.”

Henry protested that he’d already had his measurements done, but Miss Liu was insistent.  “You’re not the same man who came to Copper Creek, dearie,” she said as the back of her hand pushed up against Henry’s balls.  Henry closed his eyes and waited uncomfortably for the sound of her pencil marking down the measurement.  “Ranch work suits you.”

The moment her hand pulled away, Henry stumbled back a step.  “I don’t work on the ranch any longer.”

“I know,” Miss Liu said.  “Red came by a couple of days ago.”

“Oh.”  Henry pulled on his jacket and asked diffidently, “Did he say anything about me?”

“Not a word.  He didn’t need to.  Poor boy looked heartbroken.”

Henry suddenly felt cold.  “H-heartbroken?” he stuttered.  “Red and I are friends, sure, but we weren’t that close.”

Miss Liu shot him a withering look.  “Please don’t insult me.  I’ve been in Copper Creek for the better part of a decade and I’m not blind.  Red, Hank, that Tanner boy, you – I know what you are.” 

Henry stumbled over to a chair in the corner of the tent.  His knees felt like jelly and his heart was racing.  It was hard to draw breath.  “I don’t know what to say.”

Her face softened.  “I know what it’s like to be different, Henry.  I haven’t betrayed Red.  I won’t betray you.  Besides –” she went over to a rack full of half-finished suits and began fiddling with them “– it’s not just men who like their own, you know.”

Henry gaped at her.  “You –?”

“Me,” she confirmed, pulling a suit off of the rack.  The dark fabric was covered in white chalk lines where the seams would eventually be.

“But then what are you doing in Copper Creek?”  His voice lowered despite himself as he added, “There aren’t many women here.”

“Lord love you,” Miss Liu said with a laugh.  “I’m a bit old for those thoughts.”  She picked over the suit in her hand, brushing off invisible dirt.  “Besides, I never had much luck in that area.  Too British for the Chinese, too Chinese for the Americans.”

Henry watched her fuss over the suit, her hands moving with sharp, sure movements, despite the age spots and wrinkles over her fingers.  “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Me too,” she sighed, draping the suit over a rack.  “Now.  Tell me what happened with you and Red.”

Henry thought back to the excitement on Red’s face when he’d first seen Henry at his fence and the look on Red’s face the last time they talked.  Now that he thought about it, ‘heartbroken’ was a good description.  “It was my fault,” he said quietly.  “I ruined everything.  Red… doesn’t care for me anymore.  Honestly, I can’t say that I blame him.”

“Poppycock.  Red isn’t a fickle man.  His love endures.”

“Yeah, well,” Henry said.  “That would be comforting if Red had ever loved me.”

Miss Liu let out an irritated noise.  “My mum always told me men were thick-headed, but the two of you are simply ridiculous.”

Henry stared at her.  “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I say, dearie.  Come on, now, let’s give this suit a try.  I think it’ll do you nicely in front of the children.”

Henry sighed and did as she said.

~~~

The first day of classes was one of the most challenging of Henry’s life.  He only had six pupils, but at least one of them couldn’t read, three of them couldn’t do any sum that numbered more than their fingers, and not a one of them knew a lick of geography.  Worse, in the first week alone Henry had to confiscate two slingshots, a bag of marbles, and a picture that Henry would have found very shocking if he’d seen it back in San Francisco.

Fortunately, a winter spent with Red had made Henry a hard man to shock and a summer working with the mayor had strengthened his spine.  Henry confiscated where necessary, assigned lines with regularity, and even used the birch switch a time or two and by the second week the students had settled down considerably.

By the day of the Skelton dance, Henry had grown quite fond of his students.  Beth was a bit dotty for George Tanner, but she had lovely handwriting and was happy to help with the two youngest boys, Billy and Harry, who were still struggling with the basics of writing.  Will, the oldest boy at fourteen, was absolutely fascinated with history and geography and he and Henry had great fun with the globe that Mrs. McNally donated to the school, dreaming of visits to far flung countries.  The final boy, Terry, was marble mad and could only be brought to attention with the greatest of efforts.  Henry considered it a good day if he managed to keep Terry from sneaking out while Henry was working with the younger children.

As for Henry’s favorite student, that was a young lady named Jessie Rankin, who had a ferocious appetite for learning and the strongest will he’d ever seen in a person, female or otherwise.  She was planning on leaving for Chicago the following summer and was determined to learn everything she possibly could before she left.  Henry had to struggle to keep up with her at times, and he loved every minute of it.  Secretly, he thought it was a shame she hadn’t been born a man.  If she had, she’d be running Chicago by the time she was thirty.

It was Jessie that kept Henry after school the day of the Skelton dance, and he arrived at Mark’s door a full twenty minutes late.  Mark was pacing around his tiny yard, his pretty white mare already saddled and ready to go.

“You’re late,” Mark said sharply as Henry pulled Hyperion to a stop.

“I know, I know,” Henry said, turning Hyperion as Mark hastily mounted his horse.  “Jessie’s gotten it into her head to learn bookkeeping and she and I stayed late discussing the basics.”

“Sharp girl,” Mark conceded, kicking his horse into a trot that wasn’t entirely safe on the crowded streets.  “She’ll make a fine politician’s wife some day.”

“She’d make a fine politician herself, if the men of Chicago were smart enough to elect a woman to office.”

Mark scoffed.  “The only way a woman will ever hold office is if women are allowed to vote and that will never happen.  Not in Montana, at any rate.”

“Maybe Illinois will be more progressive,” Henry said.  “Lincoln was from there, you know.”

“And look what happened to him,” Mark retorted.  “I don’t think Illinois is as progressive as you think.  Besides, why should a woman need to vote?  She has her husband to vote for her.”

Henry gave that ridiculous statement the scathing treatment it deserved and they argued politics all the way to the Skelton ranch, where the dance was just starting to get underway.

As they drew closer, Henry felt himself getting more and more anxious.  It made it hard for him to continue his argument and finally Mark sighed.  “Thinking about Red?”

“I haven’t seen him in over a month,” Henry pointed out.  “And we parted badly.”

“Don’t you worry,” Mark said.  “Red couldn’t hold a grudge if his life depended on it.  Just don’t get too excited – he usually waits until a dance is well started to arrive.”

“Right,” Henry said, taking a couple of deep breaths in an ineffectual attempt to be calm.  “I can be patient.”

“Of course you can,” Mark said, sounding utterly unconvinced.  “Don’t worry, though, you’ll have plenty of dancing to keep you busy.”

Henry frowned.  “I will?”

Mark looked over sharply.  “It’s your turn to wear the strip, remember?”

Henry groaned.  “Really, Mark, must I?”

“You promised that if I wore the strip last time, then you would wear it this time.”

“I know, but –”  Henry winced at the look Mark was shooting his way.  “All right, all right.  I’ll wear it.”

Mark beamed.  “Excellent!  Now, don’t worry about Red.  He’ll be here before too long.  In the meantime, I’d like to claim your first dance.”

Despite himself, Henry smiled and shook his head.  “You’re incorrigible.”

Mark smiled proudly.  “I know.”

~~~

Mark was right.  Once Henry started dancing, the time passed quickly and it was nearly dark when he looked up and realized that Red still hadn’t arrived.

Excusing himself from the next dance, Henry wandered around the small crowd, looking for familiar faces.  Unfortunately, Mark and Hank were nowhere to be seen.  Henry did spot Chris in the crowd, but he’d never actually spoken to Chris before and he didn’t feel comfortable speaking to the man without an introduction, especially not on a subject as delicate as the unspoken secret they shared.

In the end, Henry wandered over to the cluster of McNallys sitting on the edge of the dancing area.  They were all perched on stools, and Henry eased himself down on the free stool next to Gertrude McNally.

She smiled at him.  “Good evening, Mr. Longfellow.”

“Evening, Mrs. McNally.”  Henry hesitated, but he was too desperate to keep his peace.  “Have you seen Mr. Redmond around here anywhere?”

“I haven’t,” Mrs. McNally said, her mouth pursing up in disapproval.  “Most unlike him to miss a dance.”

“I know,” Henry said, chewing his lip.  “I think maybe I should go to his ranch, to make sure nothing’s happened to him.”

“Don’t you have school tomorrow?” Mrs. McNally asked in a pointed tone.

Henry winced.  He did, in fact, have school tomorrow, as the Skeltons chose to have their dance on a Wednesday.  Besides, the more he thought about it, the more he realized what a bad idea it would be to show up at Red’s door without a hint of warning.  After the way they parted, Henry doubted he’d be welcome.

Maybe it would be best to send Mark instead.  Then, depending on how that meeting went, Henry could go out to the ranch on Saturday.  That way, if all went as well as Henry hoped, he would have a full night and day before he had to return to town.

“You’re right,” he said to Mrs. McNally, who looked inexplicably pleased.  Untying the strip of fabric from his arm, he held a hand out to her.  “Could I have this dance?”

She smiled and accepted.

~~~

The next day, Henry was a mess.  Mark had agreed to go to Red’s ranch and make sure everything was all right, and to determine if it was a good idea for Henry to go out on Saturday.  All day long, Henry thought about Mark’s visit and, as a result, he was distracted during his classes.  School students were not very forgiving of a distracted school master and the classes quickly became a chaotic disaster.

By the time Henry shooed the last student out the door, he was exhausted and desperate for information.  Unfortunately, Mark had been very clear that Henry wasn’t to come over until after nightfall, so Henry went to try and choke down a spot of dinner.  After that, he settled down in his small room at the back of the schoolhouse and tried, unsuccessfully, to read.

The moment the sun slipped below the horizon, Henry half-ran to the door of the schoolhouse.  Ripping open the door, he barreled out and slammed into the person standing on the other side.

Henry fell back into the schoolhouse, registering a feminine yelp from the person he’d hit at the same time.  “Oh, damn,” he swore as he clambered to his feet.  “I’m so sorry, miss, but I was in such a hurry and…”  His voice trailed off as the woman stood up and turned to face him.

“Hello, Henry,” the woman said.

Henry felt the blood drain from his face.  “Emmaline.  What the hell are you doing here?”


	14. Chapter 14

“William Harrison Winchester!  What the _fuck_ is going on here?”

“Hey, Red,” the sheriff said calmly and it took everything Red had not to reach out and throttle the man.  If Willie’s neck hadn't been so damned thick, Red might’ve given it a try.  “Guess you heard about Henry.”

Red opened his mouth to rip a strip off of Willie’s hide, but a quiet voice stopped him.

“Red?  What are you doing here?”

Red turned to see Henry staring at him from a jail cell.  Henry looked as good as ever, despite his obvious exhaustion, and Red felt a familiar tightening in his groin.  The warmth blooming in his chest was less familiar but no less welcome, and Red smiled helplessly as he went over to the cell.  “Henry.  How are you?”

“I’ve been better.”  Henry’s eyes kept moving over Red’s face and Red had to fight down a blush as he realized Henry was noting Red’s careful shave.  “What are you doing here?”

Red bit back his first response as being inappropriate to say in front of Willie.  He bit back his second for being inappropriate to say in front of Henry.  He bit back his third, fourth, and fifth responses as being inappropriate to say in front of anyone.  Finally he settled on, “I needed to see you.”

“Why?”

“Not important now,” Red said firmly.  “What’s this bullshit about you killing someone?”

Henry opened his mouth, then hesitated, glancing over at the sheriff.  “Willie, can you make sure that no one comes in?”

“Henry, we decided that –”

“I’m not lying to Red,” Henry said tightly and the warmth in Red’s chest spread throughout his whole body.

Willie looked at Henry a little narrowly, but left without further protest.  Red turned back to the cell, mouth open to ask again about this whole murder nonsense.

“I’m sorry,” Henry blurted.

Red paused, his train of thought derailed.  “Sorry?”

“About what I said at the ranch,” Henry said, sounding miserable.

That dampened the warmth in Red’s chest.  “Were you lying?” Red asked gruffly.

Henry hesitated, then sighed.  “No.”

“Then don’t apologize.”  Red cleared his throat, trying to rid himself of the lump that had formed there.  The warm spot in his chest had shrunk down to a tiny spark in a vast coldness, but he took some comfort in the fact that the spark hadn’t disappeared entirely.  “Tell me what happened to Emmaline Hamlin.”

Henry slumped against the bars of the cell.  He laughed, but there was no humor in the sound.  “Nothing,” he said, shaking his head.  “Nothing at all.”

Red frowned, confused.  “She’s not dead?”

“Not unless she died in the last twelve hours.  That’s when she left for Butte.”

“She was _here_?”

“In this very office.”

Red shook his head, even more confused.  “Then why is the sheriff saying you killed her?”

“That’s … a long story.”

“I’ve got time.”  Red stepped back without looking away from Henry and grabbed the chair behind the desk.  “Tell me.”

And what a story Henry told.  From his apprenticeship at the Hamlin & Hamlin law firm to the “accidental” lunch with Emmaline to the surprise he felt when he first read about his engagement in the paper.

“But why would she do that?” Red asked, honestly bewildered.  Forcing a man into marriage seemed to be the perfect recipe for a miserable life.

“Apparently because she could tell that I wasn’t interested in women,” Henry said with a hint of bitterness in his voice.  “And she isn’t interested in men.”  He leaned wearily against the bars of the cell.  “I just wish she’d told me that.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“Because it was too risky, just in case she was wrong about me.  If I’d told her father about her preferences before she was married and safely away from him...”  Henry sighed.  “He might have killed her.  Even if he didn’t, at the very least he would have cut her off from other women, including her lover.”

“Her lover?”

Henry laughed ruefully.  “Cecily.  I must’ve met that girl a dozen times before and I didn’t even know her name, but apparently they’ve been lovers for years.  They settled down in Boston.  Were happy there, too, until they heard about the bounty on my head.”

Red pressed up against the bars of the cell, his hands clenching into fists of their own accord.  “What bounty?”

“The one Horatio Hamlin put on my head.  He claimed that I had killed Emmaline and promised a thousand dollars to anyone who brought me back, dead or alive.  Preferably dead.”

Red snarled.  “That bitch of yours has a lot to answer for.”

“Hey,” Henry said sharply.  “She didn’t know this would happen.  And as soon as she heard about the bounty, she came back to prove to everyone that she was still alive, which she didn’t have to do.  Frankly, if she hadn’t, I don’t know what I would have done.  I wouldn’t have been able to prove she was still alive.  Only she can do that.”  He took a breath.  “She left for San Francisco this morning to speak with her father.”

“And your plan is to stay here, behind bars like a fish in a barrel, till the bounty is lifted?” Red asked in disbelief.

“Strictly speaking, it was Willie’s idea.”

Red glared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.  I don’t have a lot of options right now.”

“You have plenty of options,” Red retorted.  He swallowed hard before forcing out, “Why didn’t you come to me?”

Henry’s mouth twisted.  “After the way we left things, I didn’t think you’d want to help.”

Red’s heart clenched painfully.  “Don’t you think that,” he gritted out.  “Don’t you ever think that.  I will always want to help you.  _Always_.”

Henry lunged forward and Red almost startled back before he felt warm arms wrapping around him.  At the first touch, Red pushed forward as well, feeling the metal bars digging into his chest as he fisted his hands in the back of Henry’s shirt. 

“I missed you,” Red admitted.

“I missed you, too,” Henry said.  His voice was muffled, probably because his face was pressed into Red’s shoulder.  “I’m so sorry.”

Red shut his eyes.  “Don’t apologize.”

“Red –”

“Hush, Henry.  Just hush.”

For several blissful moments they held each other tight, only separated by the metal bars of Henry’s cell.

Unfortunately, those metal bars were pretty damn uncomfortable so, with reluctance, Red let Henry go.  “You’re not staying here.”

“Great.  Where am I going to go?”

“Back to the ranch with me, of course.”

For a moment, Henry beamed and Red’s heart pounded in his chest.  Then a cloud passed over Henry’s beautiful features.  “I shouldn’t.  What if someone hears about the bounty and comes after me?”

“Then I stop them,” Red said simply.

Henry didn’t look convinced, but at that moment the door opened and Willie popped his head in.  Red took a big step back and to the side, putting some space between him and Henry.  “Willie!”

“Sorry fellas, but Henry has a visitor.”

Red heard a groan behind him.  “Another one?” Henry asked.

“One in the know,” Willie said oddly, before stepping back.

Mark appeared in the doorway, a pair of saddlebags slung over his shoulder.

Red felt a startling surge of jealousy.  “Mark, what are you doing here?”

“I heard you were storming around town asking about Henry,” Mark said dryly.  “I assume you’re about to take him out to the ranch?”

Red turned to smile smugly at Henry.  “See, even Mark thinks it’s a good idea.”

Henry rolled his eyes.

“It’s safer than here at any rate,” Mark said.  “You probably shouldn’t leave till nightfall, though.  No sense in letting everyone know where you’re going.”

“We could fake a prison escape,” Red said, feeling a rush of excitement.  “I could rip out the bars with my horse and we could ride away to freedom.”

Henry looked inexplicably unmoved by this idea.  “You have an amazing horse, Red, but I doubt she could budge these bars.  Besides, I’m sure Willie would be happy to let me out if we explain the plan to him.”

Red sighed and nodded.  It was boring, but it made sense.  He wasted no time in calling Willie into the office and explaining the plan to him.  Willie looked about as impressed as Henry had, but between Mark and Red, they managed to talk Willie around.  Henry didn’t fight against the agreement, but he looked conflicted.  When Mark suggested that Red collect the black mare and Hyperion and wait on the outskirts of the town, Henry didn’t protest at being left alone for the rest of the day.

Red protested for a good five minutes, but eventually figured out that he wasn’t going to out-stubborn Henry.  “I remember you as being more agreeable,” he grumbled as he conceded.

“People change,” Henry said, looking even more exhausted than he had before the argument.  “Sometimes they might change in ways you don’t like.”

Red frowned at that.  “There’s nothing wrong with having a backbone.”  He wanted to add something more direct, but with Mark and Willie standing right there watching, he had to leave it at that.  “I’ll go pick up the horses.  Is there anything else you need me to get while I’m in town?”

“I’ll pack what he needs,” Mark said easily.

Red scowled at him, but he might as well not have bothered for all of the attention Mark paid him.  Annoyed, Red turned to Henry.  “I’ll wait for you at that bear-shaped boulder just north of town.”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”  Henry glanced at Mark and Willie, and let out a quiet sigh.  “We’ll catch up then.”

Red did his best to offer up a reassuring smile.  He wasn’t sure how successful he was.

~~~

It wasn’t difficult to talk John Cary into turning Hyperion over to Red’s care; Red had bought the horse from him in the first place, three years before.  Besides, everyone in town knew that Henry had been arrested and jailed men rarely managed to pay their bills.

That afternoon lasted an eternity.  Red hadn’t planned on an extended wait when he’d first ridden into town, so he didn’t have anything on hand to occupy the time.  He tried whittling, but his boot knife wasn’t suited for the task and he ruined three pieces of wood before he gave up.  Then he collected a pile of wood for a fire, before he realized that when faking a prison escape, it probably wasn’t a good idea to light a fire.  Finally, he settled down with a pile of leaves and proceeded to make a mountain of shredded foliage.

When the sun finally went below the trees, Red gave up on the leaves and began pacing around the boulder.  He lost count of how many times he went around before he finally heard the sound of a branch snapping on the main trail.  “Henry?”

“It’s me,” a quiet voice called out.  A few moments later, Henry was close enough to see in the dim moonlight.  His body looked oddly misshapen; it took Red several seconds to realize that it was because Henry had a pair of saddlebags draped over his shoulder.

“How did the escape go?”

“It’s not hard when the sheriff opens the cell for you,” Henry said wryly.  “Willie’s going to tell folks I’m sick.  Too sick for visitors.  Hopefully that’ll buy us another day or two before anyone realizes that I’m gone.”

Red nodded.  “Come on, we need to get to the ranch before the moon sets.”

Henry nodded and tossed his saddlebags over Hyperion’s rump.  Red watched with his heart in his throat.  He’d meant to wait, but having Henry so damn close was more than Red could take.  “Hugging?” he asked hoarsely.

“What?” Henry asked, sounding understandably confused.

“How do you feel about hugging?  Is it something you like?”

Henry didn’t answer for a second, long enough for Red’s stomach to sink.  When he did speak, however, his voice was soft.  “Actually, I love hugs.”

Red barely waited for Henry to finish speaking before sweeping him up into an embrace.  “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, breathing Henry’s scent deep into his lungs.  “And I’m really glad you like hugs.”

Henry was shaking slightly, which worried Red until Henry spoke.  “Me, too,” he said with laughter in his voice.  “And thank you for asking.”

“I’m not a brute,” Red said, fighting the urge to squeeze Henry even tighter.  “I’m not going to force you to do anything you won’t want.  Not again.  Never again.”

Henry immediately tested Red’s conviction by loosening his hold and leaning back.  Red growled under his breath, but let Henry go.  “Changed your mind about hugs?”

“Definitely not,” Henry said firmly.  “But Red, it’s important to understand – what happened last winter wasn’t all your fault.  I should have said something.”

“You shouldn’t have had to say anything.  I knew you didn’t have any experience!  I should have known to ask.  I should have –”

“All right!  I agree, mistakes were made on both sides.  But that’s all they were – mistakes.  And, Red?  That winter wasn’t all bad.  There was a lot of good.  Between us, there was a lot of good.”

There was that damn sensation in Red’s chest again.  “I’m glad,” he choked out.  He reached out to pull Henry into another embrace, but immediately let him go again.  “Sorry!  Sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

Henry let out an exasperated sound.  “Red!  You need to relax.  I’m not the same person I was back then.  If you do something I don’t like, I’ll tell you.”

“Right,” Red said, turning away to gather up the mare’s reins.

Henry sighed again, this time quietly.  “We should go.  It’s getting late.”

“Don’t want to miss the moon,” Red agreed.  He mounted the mare and turned the horse around to see Henry climbing up on Hyperion.  “Follow me and stay close.  It’s easy to wander off the trail in shadows like these.”

The ride back was a long one, with Red’s attention torn between the unfamiliar trail that in the light of day he knew like the back of his hand, and Henry.  Henry was staying close, like instructed, and Red imagined he could smell the other man’s scent, carried by the light night breeze.

Time returned to normal speed once they arrived at the cabin.  Red went into the barn to tend the horses while Henry went into the cabin.  Once Henry was out of sight, Red was able to focus on his usual tasks and he efficiently stripped the horses of their gear.  He fed them first and gave them a cursory brush down before hurrying into the cabin.

He was surprised at his own relief when he found Henry inside.  Henry was seated at the table, his elbows propped up on the table top and his face buried in his hands.  Opposite him was a plate with several thick slices of bread.  The jam and butter pots were next to the plate.  Apparently that was as close to cooking as Henry was prepared to go.

“Henry?”

Henry’s head snapped up and he smiled wearily.  “Hey, Red.  Horses put away?”

“You look terrible,” Red said honestly, sitting down at the table and grabbing a piece of bread.  He hadn’t eaten since breakfast that morning, and his belly was aching for food.  Slathering the bread with butter and jam, he gulped it down in three bites.

“Haven’t slept well the last couple of nights,” Henry said.  He was watching Red eat with an expression that was amused and – Red hoped he wasn’t imagining this – fond.  He kept watching as Red finished up his meal and washed the dishes, and Red felt an inconvenient but inevitable heat in his groin.

“I could sleep on the pallet,” Red offered as he led the way to the bedroom, though he winced at the thought of curling up on that thin bit of straw and canvas.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Henry said, stripping down to his long johns with nary a blush in sight.  He slid into the bed, scooting over to the far side, before lifting the covers invitingly.

Red wasted no time in getting his shirt off, though he hesitated at his pants.  He hadn’t started wearing long johns yet.

“ _Red_ ,” Henry said with exasperation.

Red sighed and dropped his trousers.  He waited a second to see if Henry would protest; when no complaints followed, Red climbed into the bed.

For several long minutes, Red stared up into the shadowy depths of his ceiling, listening as Henry’s breathing slowly evened out.  He itched to touch Henry, but considering how things stood between them, he wasn’t about to take the risk and he curled his hands into fists to try and hold in temptation.

Next to him, Henry made an annoyed sound and a hand flopped over and into Red’s face.  Red was too startled to react and the hand scrabbled about for a moment until it encountered one of Red’s hands, at which point it grabbed on tight and pulled.

Red rolled over willingly and found himself tucked up against Henry’s back, his arm draped over Henry’s side, and his hand pressed against Henry’s heart.

Henry made a contented noise and a second later a quiet snore could be heard.

Red grinned and buried his nose into the nape of Henry’s neck, breathing in deep gulps of Henry’s scent as he slid into sleep.

~~~

For the first time in months, Red woke to a warm bed and a firm body and for a while he just let himself drift blissfully in the sensation.

Unfortunately, there were chores to be done.  Most of them could be put off, but the cow hadn’t gotten her milking last night and her udders would be ready to burst.  Not that they would burst, of course, but Red had missed a few milkings lately and if a cow wasn’t milked regularly, she’d dry up.  At that point she wouldn’t have milk again till she threw another calf and, frankly, getting a steer out to the ranch to service her was more trouble than her milk was worth.

Red gave himself another couple of seconds to calculate just how much it would cost to buy a pregnant cow outright before reluctantly slipping out of bed.  It took a bit of doing to untangle himself from Henry, but the other man never stirred and eventually Red got free.

Fighting back the urge to whistle, Red dressed himself quickly and strode out to the barn.  It was a beautiful day, sunny but brisk, and Red found himself beaming as he picked up the milk pail and went over to sooth the lowing heifer.

The cow tried to knock over the milk pail no less then seven times.  Red kept on smiling as he twisted the bucket away.  The rams started butting heads, even earlier than the previous year, and Red found himself grinning as he wrestled the animals apart.  The hens were having an off day and didn’t produce a single egg.  Red gave up on being quiet and whistled as he made a meal of bacon and biscuits.

Henry came out of the bedroom as Red pulled the biscuits out of the oven.  He was rubbing his eyes and yawning, but he still looked vastly improved over the day before.  Even better, he hadn’t bothered with a shirt and was just wearing trousers over his long johns.  Red beamed at him.  “Hungry?”

“Starved.”  Henry dropped down at his seat at the table and wrapped both hands around the coffee mug Red had left there.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” Red said, admiring the way Henry’s shoulders and arms strained the seams of his long johns.  Henry’s new shirts covered up the increased bulk, but those long johns were the ones that Red had purchased and they made it clear how much muscle Henry had gained since moving to Montana.

“Are you planning on joining me?” Henry asked, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“Right, yes,” Red said, flushing.  “Food’s done.”  He divided the food onto two plates and carried them to the table.  As he and Henry tucked in, Red said, “Since you’re here, you can help me do laundry.”

Henry groaned.  “I hate laundry.”

“Everyone hates laundry.  Still, it goes faster with two than with one.”

“That’s true,” Henry said with a sigh.  “How much do you have?”

“All of it.”

“ _All_ of it?”  Henry groaned again.

Red just smiled.

~~~

Red had never enjoyed doing laundry so much.  Just the sight of Henry, so confident and strong – it made Red want shove him against a wall and kiss him.

Kissing hadn’t been approved yet, though, and truthfully, Red still wasn’t completely sure about the hugging, so he kept his hands to himself.  It was enough, for now at least, to have Henry close by, laughing and smiling and happy.

That night, as they sat at the table after dinner, Red pulled out his singed copy of _Evangeline_.  “I can’t believe you suggested I read this crap.”

“You read it?” Henry said, sounding surprised.

“Did you?”

“Of course.  It’s one of my favorites.”

“Why?  It’s depressing.  And the ending is terrible!”

“It’s _tragic_.  And the ending is _powerful_ – they found each other.”

“Yeah, and then Gabriel _died_.”

“Well, that’s what makes it tragic.”

Red growled and threw the book across the room again.

“Red!”  Henry got up and reclaimed the book.  “You shouldn’t treat books this way.”  He ran a finger over the blackened cover with a dubious expression.

“It’s my book, I can treat it anyway I like.”

“Red.”

“ _Henry_.”

Henry sighed.  “If you don’t want it anymore, could I take it for the school?  We could always use more books for the students.”

Some of the happiness that had been buoying Red all day – even during the argument – drained away at the reminder that, no matter what happened in the next few days, Henry would eventually be leaving.  “Of course,” he said, standing up and gathering the plates.  “That would be fine.”

“Red?” Henry asked as Red turned away with the plates.  “Are you all right?”

“Of course.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well, for one thing, you’re doing the dishes.  The dishes are my chore.”

“You don’t have any chores, Henry.  You’re a guest.”

Henry snorted lightly.  “Tell that to the pile of laundry I spent all day working on.”  Red heard the noise of a chair being pushed back and then the sound of approaching footsteps.  Henry’s hand reached in front of Red and gently pulled away the plate that Red was holding.  “What’s wrong?”

Red gripped the side of the wash basin.  “Henry, do you like teaching?”

“I do,” Henry said, sounding baffled.

Red’s heart sank.  Mark had told him that Henry enjoyed teaching, but at the back of his mind, Red had been hoping Mark was wrong.  “So no chance of you coming back to work on the ranch, then?”  He laughed as he said it, trying to make it into a joke.

“Red,” Henry sighed, and the answer was in the tone of his voice.

“It’s all right,” Red said hastily.  “The fifth pasture’s done now, so I have more time to do daily chores.”

Warm hands, strong from a year of hard work, gripped Red’s shoulders and turned him around.  The moment Red was facing Henry, he found himself caught up in an embrace.  Red wasted no time in hugging back.

“Oh, Red,” Henry said with another sigh.  “What a mess we’ve made of things.”

“You mean, what a mess _I’ve_ made of things.”

“It wasn’t all your fault,” Henry said firmly.  “It wasn’t even mostly your fault.  And it doesn’t matter whose fault it was anyway, because we’re running out of time and I don’t want to waste it all with apologies and blame.”

Red’s heart started to beat faster.  “What do you want to do instead?”

Henry leaned back and pressed his hand against Red’s groin.  “This.”

Red gasped.  “Just that?”

Henry grabbed one of Red’s arms and pulled it around.  Grasping Red’s hand, he pushed it to his own groin.  Red’s hand squeezed convulsively, feeling the outline of Henry’s hardening cock.  “And this.”

For a beat, they just stared at each other and then Red was ripping at Henry’s clothes, trying to get to the hot flesh underneath.  He could feel Henry’s fingers fumbling with Red’s fly at the same time and he grunted as Henry’s hand closed tightly around his cock.

They jacked each other right there in the kitchen, and it was hot and fast and glorious.

Sated, they leaned against each other for a while. 

“Um, Red?” Henry murmured.

“Hm?”

“Any chance we can go to bed?”

Red’s cock twitched and he grinned.  “Sure.”

“Just for sleep,” Henry added hastily.

Red sighed but he couldn’t really be too disappointed.  Not after what they’d just shared.  “If that’s what you want.”

“It is,” Henry said firmly.  He stood up and stepped back, which was also disappointing, though Red was pleased that he didn’t bother trying to put his clothes to rights.  “Why don’t you finish the dishes while I lock up?  Then we can go to bed and talk.”

The last thing Red wanted to do in bed was _talk_ , but he resigned himself to the inevitable and nodded.  Tidying up for the night took just a few moments and they climbed into bed together.  This time they were both naked, which Red thought was a considerable improvement.

Any hopes Red might have had about avoiding conversation were lost the moment he blew out the lamp and Henry asked, “Are you still hard?”

Red immediately felt wary.  “Yes.  Why?”

Henry let out a gust of air.  “I’m not.”

“You just came,” Red pointed out.

“So did you.”

Red felt an uncomfortable desire to squirm.  “I’m not – normal.  I never have been.  My cock is greedy.  The more sex I have, the more it wants.”

There was a long silence.  The longer it stretched, the more anxious Red became.  “Henry?”

“I don’t want to give up on us.”

Red went rigid.  “Is there an ‘us’?”

“I want there to be.  I just – I’m not sure it can work.  I don’t know that I can,” he took a deep, shuddering breath, “satisfy you.  Sexually.”

Red twisted over so that he could look at Henry, though in the darkness of the room he could make out little more than a black shape in the darkness.  “It doesn’t matter,” he said urgently.  “I’m stronger than my lust.  If you give me a chance, I can prove it to you.”

Henry sighed.  “I know you believe that, Red, but –”

“And there’s always Hank and Mark,” Red cut in desperately.  “I can ask them to come out at any time if –”

“No!”

Red flinched back from force of the word.  “Henry?”

“No,” Henry repeated firmly, if less loudly.  “I don’t want you going to someone else for sex.”

Red thought about the upcoming McNally dance with a sinking sensation.  “Not ever?  Not even at the dances?”

Henry hesitated.  “Maybe at the dances.  Maybe.  I’ll have to think about it.  But I don’t want you bringing men to the ranch for sex.”

“What if you were there?  You could watch and make sure –”

“Red!”

“I want this to work!”  Red took in a deep breath, trying to calm himself down.  “I want this to work,” he said again.  “But if I can’t go to anyone else and you don’t think you’re enough for me, then I don’t see how it’s possible.”

“That’s fair,” Henry said quietly.  “And maybe you’re right.”

Red swore under his breath.  “That really wasn’t what I wanted to hear.”

“I know.”  Red felt Henry shifting in the bed and when Henry spoke again, his voice was pointed away from Red.  “Let’s sleep on it.  Maybe something will come to us in the morning.”

“Maybe,” Red said, not feeling particularly confident.  Still, when he flipped onto his side and pulled Henry back against his chest, he felt a little bit of hope.  They’d come this far, hadn’t they?  Maybe they could make it work.

Maybe.

~~~

When Red woke, he found Henry staring at him.  It was a disconcerting moment.  “Good morning?”

“Morning,” Henry said and he leaned forward to press his lips to Red’s.

Instantly feeling better, Red kissed back enthusiastically.  When he tried to touch, however, Henry pulled back.  “Not just yet.”

That was less of a ‘no’ and more of a ‘not right now’, so Red settled back in the bed, feeling content.  “How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have in months,” Henry answered.  “You?”

“Same.  You do much thinking yet, or have you been spending all your time staring at me?”

Henry grinned.  It was a wondrous sight.  “I did do some thinking and I came up with a few ideas.  First off, though, I have to ask: is there anything you don’t like?”

“Fish,” Red said instantly.  “Cabbage.  Termites.”

Henry punched him in the shoulder.  “In _bed_.  Is there anything you don’t like _in bed_?”

Red considered that.  “Do you mean when I’m in bed, or do you mean when I’m fucking?”

This time Henry whacked him with the pillow.  “Do you want sex today or not?”

When he put it that way… “Not partial to blood.”

Henry gaped, looking as if he’d never even considered such a thing.  He gaped even more as Red continued: “And I’ve never tried it, but I can’t see myself wanting to couple with any of the animals.  If you want to piss on me, we’d have to be outside; I don’t want to have to clean that off the floors.  Any shitting needs to be done on the other side of the yard from the well, becau–”

“You know what, I’m sorry I asked,” Henry said.  “Why don’t we just make it a rule that if one of us says to stop, the other stops.”

 Red felt all of his humor disappear in an instant.  “That’s always been the rule.  I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear to you before.”

“And I’m sorry that I didn’t ask,” Henry said.  “And I think another rule should be that there’s no more apologizing, at least not about this.  What’s done is done.  No use in harping over the past.”

Red wasn’t sure how well he’d do following that rule, but he could see the reasoning behind it.  “I’ll try.”

“And I’ll keep reminding you as often as I need to.  Come on, let’s get the morning chores done and then have some breakfast.  You’re going to need your strength.”

Red perked up at that.  _All_ of him perked up.  “I will?”

Henry grinned.  It was the filthiest expression Red had ever seen on Henry’s face, and Red found himself hardening even further.  “Yeah,” Henry said.  “You definitely will.”

The morning chores took forever.  Red spent most of them in a daze, his hands doing their work while his mind considered possibilities.  He spent a good portion of the morning with a tent in his trousers.

Henry was intentionally making things worse, the bastard.  When Red was milking the cow, Henry decided that was the perfect time to feed the horses, which meant Red kept seeing Henry’s ass as he walked back and forth from the hay to the stalls.  Later, when Red was chopping wood, Henry came out to weed the garden, which meant him on his knees, his ass bobbing up and down as he reached out between the plants to pull out grasses and other weeds.

In a desperate bid for relief, Red sent Henry to haul water for the washtub while Red made breakfast.  Best case scenario, they’d both get a bath out of it.  Worst case, the horses would have enough water for several days.

It wasn’t till after lunch that Henry finally showed mercy.  “All right,” he said, picking up the plates and putting them by the sink.  “You can get undressed now.”

Red grinned and unclothed in record time.  Standing there naked as Henry did the dishes was enough to bring his half-hard cock to full mast.

Henry turned around and raised his eyebrows.  “Eager, I see.”

“Very,” Red answered without shame.

Henry smiled and reached into his back pocket for his handkerchief.

Red got even harder.

“Come on into the sitting room,” Henry said, already leading the way.

At some point in the day, Henry had apparently found time to tidy up a bit in the sitting room, because there was a bare space against the back wall and the rag rug had been folded up and set on the rocking chair in the corner.  Seeing the changes, knowing that Henry had _planned_ this, fanned the flames of Red’s lust to the point that Red felt sweat pricking his skin.

“Turn around,” Henry said huskily.

Red hurried to do so.

“Hands behind your back.”

Now it was Red’s turn to lift his eyebrows, but he obediently put his hands back.  It wasn’t a shock to feel the rope being wrapped around his wrists, but Red felt his heart begin to race anyway.  He never would have guessed Henry would play these sorts of games.

“Now, close your eyes.”

Red obeyed.  A moment later, a cloth was carefully draped over his eyes and tied firmly at the back of his head.

“Can you see anything?”

Red shook his head.

“Good.  I’m going to turn you around and then walk you back up against the wall.  We’ll take it slow, but if you feel yourself losing your balance, let me know.”

Warm, calloused hands grasped Red’s elbow gently.  Red gasped.  “Easy there,” Henry murmured, and the hand carefully guided Red until he was standing against the wall.  The hand moved up to Red’s shoulder and pushed back.  “I want your shoulders, ass, and the heels of your feet to be touching the wall at all times.”

It took a bit to follow those instructions; Red’s hands kept getting in the way.  In the end, he had to thrust his stomach and chest out to allow enough room for the hands at the small of his back, and though he couldn’t see himself, he felt like everything he had was on display.

“Beautiful,” Henry murmured.

Red felt a swell of pride and thrust out his chest a little further.  He felt his skin begin to tense in anticipation of touch and he eagerly tried to guess where Henry’s fingers would first alight.

Except Henry didn’t touch him.  In fact, Henry didn’t do or say anything for several minutes.  Red frowned and paid more attention to his hearing.  It sounded like … water was being poured into a bucket?

A few minutes later, there came a rasping sound very close by, almost at Red’s feet.  If he didn’t know better, Red would have guessed that Henry was scrubbing the floor.  “Henry?” he called out tentatively.

“Yes?”  Henry’s voice was coming from the direction of the floor, which led credence to the argument that he was scrubbing.  Red just couldn’t figure out _why_.

“Red?  Are you all right?”

“I’m fine.  What are you doing?”

“You’ll see.  It’ll just be a moment longer, I promise.”

“No need to rush,” Red said, which wasn’t entirely true.  He could feel his cock starting to soften.

The scrubbing noise continued.  Red attempted to be patient.

The sound of water splashing gave him a bit of hope that the scrubbing was finished.  Time continued to pass, though, and more noises could be heard, rustling sounds and occasionally a small thump. 

When Henry finally did touch Red, Red started so hard that he nearly fell over.

“Whoa,” Henry said, and Red felt hands gripping his hips, holding him steady.  After being on edge for so long, the hands felt like branding irons against his skin. 

“Steady there,” Henry added.  As he spoke, hot breath washed over Red’s cock and Red shivered in anticipation. 

A moment later, a hot tongue licked over the head of Red’s cock, feeling like a stripe of fire followed by ice. 

Red’s hips tried to thrust forward, but Henry’s hands held him firmly against the wall.   “Fuck,” Red groaned as humid warmth engulfed Red’s cock and he felt a pulling sensation as Henry began to suck.  “Fuck, fuck, Henry, fuck.”

The heat went away.  “I think we need to put your mouth to better use.”

“Wha– mpfh.”  Red grunted around the satiny smooth piece of wood he suddenly found in his mouth.

“Mark gave this to me,” Henry said, his mouth so close to Red’s ear that he could feel hot breath on his neck.  The wooden cock in Red’s mouth was pulled out an inch before being shoved back in twice as far.  ‘Right before I left town.  He gave it to me to use on you.”

Red moaned.

“Get it good and wet now,” Henry added.  “It’s going in your ass next.”

Red slumped back against the wall as his knees suddenly turned wobbly.  He moaned again as his cock was once again swallowed down to the root.  Surrounded by hot and wet and suction, Red lost himself in sensation and this time Henry didn’t stop until Red shot his seed down Henry’s throat.

“Good,” Henry said, and the well-used rasp to Henry’s voice made Red’s cock twitch.  Henry let out a low laugh.  “You really are insatiable, aren’t you?”

With the wooden cock lodged in his mouth, all Red could do was nod. 

“You should be relaxed enough now,” Henry said and the wood in Red’s mouth shifted and was pulled free.  “Turn around and bend over.”

Weak-kneed and more than a little clumsy, Red tried to do as ordered.  A pair of hands helped him shift until he was squatting, with his forehead resting against the wall.

“Let’s see if you got this wet enough, shall we?

Red felt a spike of fear at the thought of something being pushed into his ass with nothing more than spit to ease the way.  When the blunt tip of the wooden cock pressed up against him, however, he felt the unmistakable slickness of oil and he relaxed enough to let the cock inside.  Soon enough, the flat wooden base was pressing up against his skin, spreading wide the cheeks of his butt.

“How does that feel?” Henry asked, his voice lacking some of the smooth confidence he’d shown up to this point.

“Good,” Red said, pressing his forehead against the smooth log wall and letting out a small, breathless laugh.  “This is – you’re very good at this.”

“I’ve been thinking about it for a while,” Henry said.

Fingers brushed against the edge of the wooden circle splitting Red’s ass before gripping the circle tightly and twisting it.  The curved cock turned in Red’s body and he let out a moan.

“Also, Mark gave me some suggestions.”

The thought of Henry and Mark discussing this, _planning_ this, made Red moan even louder.  “What suggestions?”

“Well, for one, he suggested that I make a list of every dirty, degrading, filthy thing you did to me.  Then he suggested that I take every item on that list and figure out how to go one step further.”

Henry leaned in close enough that his clothing brushed Red’s skin.  “That’s what I’m going to do to you.”

Red’s cock jerked and his asshole spasmed against the wooden rod inside him.

Henry chuckled.  “Break time is over.  On your feet.”

It took some effort, but Red managed to get back upright.  Once there, he leaned back against the wall gratefully, very aware of the wooden cock in his ass.  “Now what?”

Rough fingertips stroked up and down Red’s chest and arms.  “Now I play.”

For a long time that’s all Red got: stroking fingers.  It felt like they mapped every inch of his skin, from his face all the way down to the tips of his toes.  Every inch, that was, except for the place where wanted them most.  “Please,” he finally gasped.

“Please, what?” Henry asked innocently.

“Please _anything_ ,” Red said desperately.  “Fuck me, suck me, jerk me – I don’t care.  I just need to come.”

“What will you give me?  If I let you come?”

“Anything.  Anything you want.”

“And if I wanted you to get on your knees for me?”

Red immediately started sliding down to the floor.

Henry let out dismissive chuckle.  “You _are_ desperate for it, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Red breathed as his knees impacted with the floor.  He leaned forward blindly, moving his head around until his face brushed canvas.  Moaning now, he nuzzled against the hot cock he felt tenting the trousers.  “Please,” he said again, mouthing the shape of that cock through the fabric.  “Please, let me do this.”

“Maybe later,” Henry said, and the cloth-covered cock suddenly disappeared.

Red started to protest, but a hand on his cock stopped him.  The hand gripped a little too tight and moved a little too quick, ruthlessly stripping Red’s cock until his balls drew up tight to his body.

Just before he came, Red’s blindfold was ripped away.  He shouted as the pleasure of the orgasm was cut with sharp pain from his eyes struggling to adjust to the light.  The combined sensations were overwhelming and he would’ve fallen over if Henry hadn’t wrapped a strong arm around Red’s shoulders.

“Damn,” Red said as he came back to himself.  He tried to think of something to add, but all he could come up with was another, “Damn.”

“Did you enjoy that?” Henry asked smugly.

“As if you couldn’t tell that I did.”  Red cleared his throat.  “Could use some water, though.”

“First things first,” Henry said.  “You made a mess.  You should clean it up.”

Red looked down to see stripes of his milky white seed splattered across the suspiciously clean floor.  “You really did plan this.”

“Every step.  Now stop stalling and get to licking.”

Red stared at him.  “Aren’t you going to loosen my hands?”

“Nope.  And I’m not going to wait forever.”  Henry reached under a blanket that was piled on the floor next to the clean spot and pulled out something that looked like a very short mop, except that the strands of the mop-head were made out of leather instead of yarn.  “You have three seconds.”

“Three seconds?  For what?”

Henry swung the mop, slapping Red’s ass. 

Red yelped.  “That stings!”

Henry smacked him again.  “Every second it takes you to clean up after yourself, you’re going to get another stroke.  Imagine how much it’s going to sting after sixty of these.”

Red swallowed hard and then leaned down to start licking.  It was a lot harder than it looked, without having his hands to help keep his balance, and every second or so he got another swat on his ass.  The semen was bitter and salty on his tongue, while the wood added an earthy tone.  By the time he managed the last of it, his ass was burning and his knees ached and his cock was so hard that it hurt.

“Mark was right,” Henry said thoughtfully as he helped Red sit back up on his heels.  “You really have no inhibitions, do you?”

“Don’t see much use for them,” Red said, gratefully gulping water from the mug that Henry held for him.  “This is much more enjoyable.”

Henry shook his head.  “For you, maybe.  I wouldn’t want you to do this to me.”

Red leaned in for a kiss and was immensely gratified when Henry allowed it.  “I will remember that,” he promised.  “You just have to tell me.”

Henry smiled and leaned in for another kiss.  “Ready for more?”

“Always,” Red said, savoring the ache in his shoulders and arms and looking forward to whatever Henry had planned next.  “Always.”

~~~

By the time Henry was done with him, Red was as sated as he’d ever been in his life.  He was also barely able to sit up and his arms, once released, felt like blocks of wood.  Henry spent a long time rubbing feeling back into those arms while Red let his mind drift back over the some of the more memorable bits of the afternoon.  Having his face shoved into the floor while Henry savagely fucked Red’s barely-stretched asshole.   Being bent over Henry’s knee and paddled until he begged for mercy.  Forcing himself down on a horse-sized wooden cock while Henry counted off the seconds, birch switch in hand.

Red whimpered at that last one and glanced down at his cock, expecting to see it rise.  It stayed soft and limp against his thigh.  “I think you broke it,” Red said in awe.

“I doubt it,” Henry said wryly, draping a blanket over Red’s shoulders.  “But it is good to know that even you have limits.”

Red reached out and dragged Henry onto his lap, enjoying the slight stiffness that remained in his arms as he pulled the blanket around them both.  “Today was … amazing.  Thank you, Henry.”

Henry curled up against Red’s chest sighed.  “I’m glad you liked it.  Honestly, I was nervous about the whole thing.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed.”

Henry let out a soft laugh and curled up closer.

They sat there for a good ten minutes as the sun slowly set outside.  Red enjoyed the lassitude in his body and the warm bulk of Henry in his arms.  Given the choice, he’d never move.

Unfortunately, he didn’t have that option, and as much as he’d like to put off reality for a little bit longer, they’d already lost two days.  “How long did Emmaline say it would take her to get to San Francisco?”

“We have at least one more day.  Maybe two.”

Red’s arms tightened involuntarily.  “Two more days isn’t enough.  Two more _weeks_ wouldn’t be enough.”

“I know,” Henry said with a sigh.  “But, Red, I love my job.  And …”  His voice trailed off.

“And you didn’t like being a ranch hand,” Red guessed.

“… no.  Sorry.”

“I believe there’s a rule about apologizing.  In fact, I believe you were the one who made that rule.

Henry chuckled ruefully.  “That is true.  But Red – what are we going to do?”

Red propped his chin on the top of Henry’s head, and stared out the window at the encroaching twilight.  “We’ll think of something.  Maybe not today or tomorrow, but we’ll think of something.  Somehow, we’ll make this work.”

“I wish I had your confidence,” Henry whispered.

“Me, too,” Red said wryly.  “Come on, help me up.  Things will look better in the morning.”

Henry didn’t look convinced, but he helped Red to his feet.  Between the two of them, they managed a passable dinner and then tumbled into bed.

Hours later, Red jolted awake to the sound of gunshots.


	15. Chapter 15

Henry rolled out of bed and lunged for his clothes.  He could hear Red doing the same behind him, but Henry could tell just from the sounds that Red was moving more slowly than usual.  There was a thud and Red cursed softly.

Henry cursed as well as he remembered how stiff and sore Red had been last night.  Of all the stupid–  “Red, are you all right?”

“I’ll be fine,” Red snapped back.  “Shit.  I didn’t think they’d actually come after you.”

“Neither did I,” Henry said grimly.  “If I had, I never would have –”

Another shot rang out.

“Let’s beat ourselves up later,” Red said.  He walked past Henry, fully dressed and with a very slight limp.

Henry shoved his right foot into a boot and hopped out on one leg while trying to get his left foot into the other boot.

More shots rang out as Red reached over the door for the rifle. 

“Who is doing the shooting?” Henry hissed as he ran up and pressed back against the wall beside the kitchen window.  “Are they shooting at each other?”

“I don’t know,” Red said tersely, taking position on the other side of the window.  “I don’t even know who ‘they’ are.”

Henry peeked out the window, where half a dozen men were milling about in confusion.  A few of them were carrying torches and Henry could see at least one horse without a rider.

He frowned.  “They look kind of familiar.”

Red turned to take a peek as well.  He quickly pulled back to safety.  “I don’t know them.”

Henry kept watching.  Another shot rang out and suddenly there was another riderless horse.  At that moment, a man with wild brown hair rode near one of the torches and Henry nearly fell over in his haste to get out of the window.

“That’s the gang,” he hissed.

“What gang?”

“The gang that robbed me when I first got to Montana!”

Red glanced out the window again.  “Are you sure?”

“Yes!”

“All right.  Stay here.”

“What?  What do you mean – Red!” 

Henry hissed in irritation as Red walked right up to the cabin door and opened it.  Without hesitation, Red lifted his rifle and started shooting.  He barely got off the first shot before the entire area echoed with a barrage of gunfire.

Henry looked out the window again.  Some of the firing was coming from the gang, but not all of it.  It wasn’t all coming from Red, either, as two men were shot out of their saddles simultaneously.

Red pulled back into the cabin and reached up to a small shelf just above the door.  He pulled down a jar full of bullets.

Henry glanced back out the window.  There was only one rider remaining, the man with the wild hair who was the leader of the gang.

“You missed me!” the man shouted.  “You miserable cowards!  Hiding in the shadows like children.  And you _still_ missed me.”

A shot rang out and the wild haired man went flying off his saddle.

Henry looked over to Red, who shook his head.  He was still reloading his rifle.

“Who do you think is out there?” Henry whispered.  “Another gang?”

“I don’t know.”  Red snapped the rifle shut and peered out into the darkness.

A voice rang out in the night.  “All clear!”

Henry frowned.  “Is that –”

But Red was already walking outside.  “Hank?  Is that you?”

A shadowy figure walked around the side of the barn.  He looked like he was the right shape to be Hank.  Henry frowned at Red’s back and followed him outside.

More figures emerged from the night.  As they got closer to the torches that were lying on the ground, Henry recognized Jack and David and Chris.  “What the hell?”

“What are you all doing here?” Red asked, much more loudly.

“Mark asked us to come,” Jack said.  He knelt down and pressed a finger to the neck of the man at his foot.  “This one’s still alive.”

“So’s this one,” David called from a few feet away.

A quick check revealed that all of the gang was still alive, except for the leader.  He had an enormous exit wound on the back of his head and no one bothered to check for his pulse.  While the others were busy with the rest of the gang, however, Henry saw Chris go over to the leader.  With one booted foot, Chris shoved the body over.  For a moment he just stared at the corpse.  Then he lifted his gun and put another bullet in the man’s face.

Henry gaped, completely at a loss for what to do.  Fortunately, Red came over and he leaned in close to murmur something to Chris that Henry couldn’t hear.  Chris nodded his head jerkily, and passed over his rifle.  Without looking back at anyone, he walked off in the direction of the main trail.

Red bent down over the body and started searching its pockets.  Henry glanced over at the others, then hurried to Red’s side.  “What’s going on here?  Is this because of Emmaline, or because I told the sheriff about them?”

Red pulled a piece of telegraph paper from the inside pocket of the body’s coat.  “I’m guessing it’s about the Hamlins.  _Fuck_.  I honestly didn’t think anyone would come for you.”

“Neither did I,” Henry said miserably.  He looked over the wounded men. “What do we do now?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.  Hank!”

“Yeah, Red?”

“What time is it?”

Hank pulled a handsome pocket watch out and leaned in to the nearest torch.  “Going on five.  It’ll be light in an hour or two.”

“That’s something,” Red muttered and silently, Henry agreed.  He couldn’t wait till the sun rose.

“Come on,” Red added.  “We need to find something we can use for bandages.”

Chris never did come back to the ranch, but the rest of them worked until daybreak to keep the rest of the gang alive.  They lost two in the night, but at dawn there were still five shooters left alive.

“Don’t know why we’re going to all this effort,” Jack muttered as he splashed some water into the face of a blond man with a bullet hole in his shoulder.  “It’s not like these bastards are worth saving.”

“Everyone’s worth saving?” Henry suggested half-heartedly.

Red snorted.  “Not likely.  But it’s not as if we can kill them in cold blood, either.”

“They might have bounties on their heads,” David offered.  “Can’t draw the bounty if they’re dead.”

Everyone considered that for a moment.

“Excellent point,” Jack said.

“I could use the extra cash,” Hank added.

“I’ll get the wagon,” Red said.  “Don’t want to waste any time getting these fellas back to town.”

Henry stared at him, feeling a little bit hurt.  “What about me?”

Red froze.  “Oh, right.”  He sighed.  “Hank, would you like to borrow the wagon?”

Hank grinned.

With everyone helping, it took less than an hour to get the dead and wounded onto the wagon.  They were nearly finished when Mark came riding up at a gallop.

“Red!  Henry!  The sheriff’s been – oh.  It looks like you already took care of it.”

“What about Willie?” Henry asked sharply.  “Is he okay?”

“He’ll be fine,” Mark said as he slid off the horse.  “He’s a bit beat up, though; apparently these guys tried the sheriff’s office first.”

Henry felt the blood drain out of his face.  “Damn it.  Any word yet from Emmaline?”

“None.”

Henry swore again.  “We can’t stay here.  What if someone else comes after me?  And they know I was at Red’s place, so he can’t stay here either.”

“We could stay.”

Henry snapped around to see Jack and David standing there.  “Mrs. McNally said we could stay as long as necessary.”

“I can stay, too, if you need it.”  That was Hank.

Henry had to swallow a couple of times before he could speak.  “Thank you.  Really, thank you.  But we don’t know how long it’ll be and we don’t know how many people will be coming next time.  We can’t stay here.  We _can’t_.”

“He does have a point,” Red said.  “We got lucky this time.  That luck won’t hold forever.  But, Henry – I can’t just leave the ranch.  The animals need to be cared for.”

“I can watch the ranch,” Hank offered.  “No one from town will question it.  If anyone does come out, I can tell them that you ran away to Canada.”

“And I have a place you can hide,” Mark said, not looking anyone in the eye.

“Don’t tell me where,” Hank said instantly.  “If I don’t know, I can’t tell anyone.  All I know is, you two went to Canada.”

“What about us?” Jack asked.  “And Chris?”

“I ran into Chris as I was riding out here,” Mark said.  “He said the Halsteads only gave him two days of leave and that he had to go back.”

“Jack, David, you mind staying with Hank?” Red asked.  “Just in case someone comes who doesn’t believe the Canada story?”

Jack and David exchanged a glance.  David nodded slightly.  “Sure,” Jack said, sounding pleased.  “We can do that.”  He glanced back at the wagon.  “We’ll take these bastards to town first.”

“Be careful,” Henry said.  “And thank you.”  He tried to smile.  “Really, I can’t thank you enough.  All of you.”

Jack whacked Henry on the shoulder.  “We stick together, here in Copper Creek.”

“We’re glad to help,” David added, patting Henry in the same spot.  “Just be careful, wherever you end up going.”

Henry watched the two of them climb up on the wagon, which was harnessed to Jack and David’s horses, and swallowed hard.  “Red,” he murmured.  “I am so sorry about this.”

“No apologizing,” Red said.  “You remember the rule.”

Henry just shook his head.  He was ruining Red’s life here.  How could he not apologize?

“We should go,” Mark said.  “Don’t want to risk someone seeing the hiding place.”

Henry had been assuming that the hiding place was Mark’s secret room, but if that was the case, they’d be waiting till nightfall.  “I’ll pack some supplies,” he said, and bolted for the cabin.

He’d just managed to make a pile of clothes and food when Red stepped inside.  “I’ll get the bedroll,” he said quietly.

“Thanks,” Henry said.  He kept his eyes on the food he was preparing and his attention on keeping his breathing steady.

He was just wrapping the food up in a towel when he remembered the pile of leather and wood crafts that they’d left in the den.  Heart in his throat, he strode the four steps to the other room and then stopped abruptly.  The floor was entirely bare.

“I put them away.”

Henry whirled around to find Red standing just behind him.  “Don’t worry,” Red added.  “They’ll be safe till we get back.”

“You sure?  If someone finds them …”

“They’re safe,” Red repeated firmly.  “You finished packing up?”

Henry took a deep breath.  “Almost.  You got any gear you want to pack, bring it to the kitchen.”  Without looking at Red, he went back to the kitchen table.

While Henry and Red had been getting everything ready, Mark had apparently been saddling up the horses.  Tying on the saddlebags was the work of a moment and before he was really ready to accept what he was doing, Henry found himself sitting on Hyperion’s back, following Mark and Red down the main trail.

Heart in his throat, Henry allowed himself one quick look back at the ranch.

Set against the backdrop of towering pines and surrounded by a low layer of mist, the cabin looked ethereal and beautiful as the sun just barely kissed its roof.  Looking at the cabin made Henry’s throat close up with love and grief.  Anger, happiness, fear, love – he’d never felt such emotions as he had while living at that cabin.  It was the birthplace of his new life, the safe harbor that protected him while he learned to understand himself and his new world.  It was the home of the man he loved.

Turning back to the trail, Henry rubbed his eyes and kicked Hyperion into a canter.

He didn’t look back again.


	16. Chapter 16

Henry was being awful quiet, and Red was getting worried.

“Will you stop that?”

Red glanced over at Mark.  “Stop what?”

“Stop looking back at him.  You’re about to walk your horse into a bush.”

Red’s mare abruptly sidestepped, jostling Mark’s much smaller white mare.

“Red!”

“Sorry,” Red said with a wince.  He took a good long look at the trail ahead.  It was much smaller than the trail to town and heavily overgrown, but at least there weren’t any more bushes in the near distance.  “I just don’t understand why he’s riding that far back.”

“A gang of outlaws just tried to kill him.”

“But they didn’t kill him!  No one even got hurt.”

“Except the outlaws,” Mark muttered.

“But they were outlaws.  Why would Henry care about them?”

Mark sighed.  “Truthfully, I’m guessing he’s more worried about you.  About the fact that you’re having to abandon your ranch.”

Red shrugged uncomfortably.  “It’s only for a few days.”

“If the plan works.  If Emmaline Hamlin does what she said she was going to do.  If Hamlin is even willing to listen to her and cancel the bounty.  That’s a lot of things that can go wrong.”  Mark hesitated.  “Are you sure he’s worth it?”

Red stared at him.  “How can you ask that?  You loved him, too.”

Mark glanced away.  “I didn’t love him.”

“What?”

“I didn’t love him,” Mark repeated, his eyes still firmly locked on the trail.  “I enjoyed his company and he wasn’t completely awful in bed, but I didn’t _love_ him.”

Red tried to wrap his mind around the idea of someone not loving Henry.  “But you were with him for weeks.”

Mark shrugged.  “You and I were fighting, Hank is spending most of his time with the whores these days, and we were between dances.”

“But –”

“Red, I’m not a romantic man.  I’ve never been in love.  I don’t know if I’m capable of it.”

“Is that why you didn’t let him stay at your house?  He would have been safe in your secret room.”

Mark pressed his lips together and kicked his horse into a gallop.  Red cursed and followed, hoping that Henry could keep up.

~~~

“There it is,” Mark said as they crested a small hill.  It was the first words he’d said since Red’s question about Mark’s secret room.

“It looks like a cliff,” Red said as Henry came up beside him.  Red glanced over, worried at Henry’s silence, but his attention was drawn back to Mark when he spoke.

“There’s an Indian cave about five feet up.  Hard to find if you don’t know it’s there.”

“And how did you find it?”

“Friend showed it to me once,” Mark said.  He rode forward before Red could ask any more questions.

Red turned to Henry.  “You all right?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Before Red could point out the complete lack of answer in that question, Henry followed Mark down the trail.

“Goddamn it!”  Those two had to be the most irritating men on earth, Red decided as he turned to follow.

Pity he liked them so damn much.

The cave was a nightmare to reach.  The entrance was a narrow crack in the cliff face, barely visible unless you were looking at it from the right angle.  There were no handholds or convenient rocks and in the end, Red had to hoist Henry up so that he could squeeze into the cave.  Henry leaned down and pulled on Red’s arms as Mark pushed on Red’s ass and between the three of them they managed to get Red inside the cave, though they all agreed that he wasn’t going to be stepping out of it again until it was safe for them to return to the ranch.

Passing up their supplies was much easier and soon enough there was nothing to do but say goodbye to Mark.  “Let us know the moment you hear anything,” Henry said for the third time.

“I will,” Mark answered, sounding exasperated.  “And you two keep your heads down.  We may be past the fence line, but this is still Westen property and the Westens don’t take kindly to strangers.”

“We’ll stay put,” Red called out, though he couldn’t really see anything with Henry filling up the tiny cave entrance.

Mark apparently decided to ignore him, as he kept right on talking.  “There’s a spring about a quarter mile west, but you’ll need to be careful when you go for more water.  This time of year, they might be using the spring for a camp site.  Try to conserve your water.”

“We’ll be fine,” Henry said.  “Just let us know the _moment_ –”

“I _will_.  Jesus Christ, you two.  Get your head back in the cave.  Red, I’ll drop the horses off at your ranch and then head back into town.  And, Henry, I swear, the moment I hear _anything_ , I’ll come out to give you the news.”

Red called out his thanks, but it probably got covered by the sound of Mark and Henry exchanging goodbyes.  He didn’t bother worrying about it too much; after the better part of two decades, Red and Mark knew each other well enough that thanks were rarely required between them.

Henry stepped back into the cave, stumbling a bit over some loose rocks.  “We should clean this place up,” he said, sounding a little lost.  “We don’t know how long we’ll be here, it might be days or weeks or, oh God, m-months.  Oh, God.  What if we can _never_ leave?  I don’t –”

“Henry!”  Red scrambled to his feet.  Keeping his head low to avoid knocking it on the roof of the cave, he wrapped his arms around Henry and pulled him gently to the floor.  “Henry, you need to calm down.”

 Henry shook his head, nearly clipping Red in the chin in the process.  “How did things get so bad?” he asked.  It almost sounded like a sob.

Red sighed and eased back against the uneven wall of the cave, keeping Henry cradled against his chest the whole time.  “It’s going to be all right,” he murmured softly.  “Just calm down.  It’s going to be fine.”

Henry let out a watery laugh.  “I think we have different definitions of ‘fine’.”

Red looked around the tiny cave and their meager pile of supplies.  “It could be worse.”  He smiled down at Henry.  “And I _know_ you’ve been in tougher spots.”

“Yeah, and I would have died if you hadn’t found me,” Henry said with a huff, though Red could see a small smile.

“And here I am,” Red said.  “See, I told you you’d be fine.”

Henry laughed at that; a genuine laugh.  “I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I fell apart like that.”

“You’ve had a rough few days,” Red said pragmatically, shifting around until he found a slightly more comfortable spot against the rock wall.  “Hell, you’ve had a rough year.  All things considered, I think you’re holding up pretty damn well.”

Henry was silent for a moment.  “Thanks, Red,” he said quietly.

“Any time.”  Red shifted some more.  “We should unpack, though.  This place isn’t very comfortable.”

Henry looked around in the dim light and Red joined him in the inspection.  It wasn’t very promising.  The walls were rocky and uneven, the ceiling was slightly lower than a man’s head, and while there was enough room for the two of them to lie flat at the same time, they’d have to be very friendly to make it work.  Fortunately, Red had no problems with being friendly with Henry.  He was less excited about the prospect of being forced to stay seated for the foreseeable future.  They might be able to get Henry back up into this cave after a water run, but there was no possibility that the two of them could get Red back inside.

Red closed his eyes and offered up a brief prayer that Emmaline Hamlin was as reliable as Henry seemed to think she was.

“At least we have a privy,” Henry said, pointing to a small hole in the corner of the cave.  The space was small enough that Red could lean over to see down into the hole.  About two feet below it was a shelf that was covered with leaves.  It was quite perfect, really: the shelf would hide their waste, while still being far enough away from the cave to keep things clean.

“I think that must’ve been made by the Indians,” Red said as he peered more closely at the hole.  The edges did look a little sharp to have been made by nature.

“I’m guessing they were the ones who did the drawings on the walls, too.”

Red looked where Henry was pointing, to a spot directly over his head.  Sure enough, there were some odd shapes marked out against the rock.

“I wonder if this was some Indian’s home,” Red said.  It’d have to be a short Indian, of course, but for a smaller man he could see the appeal of this little cave.  It was protected from the elements, well-hidden from invaders, and it was close to a water source.

“I bet it was.  I wonder what happened to him.”

Nothing good, if Red had to guess.  He didn’t see the profit of saying so out loud, though, so instead he suggested, “Why don’t we unpack and see what we have?”

They spent the better part of the day cleaning out the cave and trying to make it more comfortable.  Between the four saddlebags, there was more than Red had expected: there was a change of clothes for each of them, a week’s worth of food, and a deck of cards to help pass the time.  Red had also rolled a couple of blankets around the bedroll, so they were able to make a somewhat comfortable sitting area up against the flattest section of wall.

As the sunlight that came through the entrance of the cave began to dim, they sat back in their newly formed nest and ate a simple supper of bread and butter sandwiches.  “Emmaline said they might be able to get to San Francisco in three days,” Henry offered.  “Maybe we can go back tomorrow.”

“Maybe,” Red said.  “What’s this Hamlin fellow like?  Will it be easy for her to convince him to take back the bounty?”

Henry pursed his lips.  “Probably not.”  He sounded discouraged.

Not liking that tone, Red set aside the rest of his sandwich and wrapped his arms around Henry.  “You know, we are all alone out here.  There’s no one around for miles.  And we do have to do something to pass the time.”

“Red, how can you possibly think about sex at a time like this?”

Well, at least he sounded exasperated now instead of discouraged.  “It’s always a good time to think about sex.”

Henry made an interesting sound that was vaguely reminiscent of a train engine overheating.  “Aren’t you still tired out from yesterday?”

Red considered his cock, which had been unusually quiet all day.  “Actually, I think I am,” he said with a sense of wonder.  He shook his head in awe.  “No one has ever managed to wring me that dry before.”

“You can’t be that dry if you’re still thinking about sex,” Henry groused.

“Henry, I always think about sex.  It’s one of the best parts of living.  Fucking and eating and dancing – that’s what makes life worth living.”

Henry leaned a little more firmly against Red.  “I guess I’m just not built that way.  I mean, I enjoy sex and of course I enjoy eating.  But I love reading and teaching and being with friends.  Without those things, I don’t know that my life would be worth living.”  He sighed.  “We’re so different, Red.  How can two people who are so different even work together?”

Red shrugged.  “We’re not that different.  We both love eating and fucking and I certainly have nothing against friends.  Besides, you read all of the time at the ranch while I was doing accounts.”

“And teaching?”

“Someone has to do the teaching.  From what I’ve heard, you’re very good at it.”

“Really?”  Henry grinned and burrowed closer to Red.  “You heard that?”

“From several people, actually.  I heard Terry’s mom even baked you a cake.”

Henry shrugged, looking bashful.  “I’ve gotten half a dozen cakes so far.  I think the mothers in this town just really love to bake.”

Red snorted.  “Not likely.  I’d be surprised if Miss Dahl got a single cake while she was teaching.”

“Really?” Henry asked.

“You can’t possibly be surprised,” Red said.  From the look on Henry’s face, though, he didn’t understand.  “Henry, you’re probably the most attractive man this town has ever seen.”

Henry gaped at him.

Red shook his head.  “Guess I owe Mark a nickel.  I really did think you were just being modest.”

Henry spluttered.  “Red!  I’m not – I mean, there are so many people who are – I mean, what about you?  Or Mark?  Or George Tanner?”

“Mark and George are fine looking men,” Red conceded.  “And I’m not going to be cracking mirrors any time soon.  But none of us can hold a candle to you.”

“…thank you, then.  I guess.”

“No need to thank me for the truth.”

They fell silent for a bit.  Red, deciding that sex probably wasn’t going to happen, picked the sandwich back up and took another bite.

“For what it’s worth, Red … I think you’re the most attractive man in town.”

Red grinned and tossed his sandwich aside.  He might be wrung dry, but _somebody_ was going to be having sex _right now_.

~~~

The next day dragged.  Around noon, Henry threw down his cards and flopped back against the wall of the cave.  “I really was hoping we’d see Mark by now.”

Red sighed – he’d had a straight – and put his cards down as well.  “She might not have even arrived in San Francisco until this morning.”

“She might not arrive in San Francisco at all,” Henry muttered.  “She did say she liked Boston.”

That was a little too close to Red’s own fears for comfort.  “She also came all the way from Boston to here,” he argued, trying to persuade himself as much as Henry.  “That’s an awful long way to go if she was just planning on turning around and going back.”  Henry didn’t look convinced, so Red added, “She didn’t have to come here at all.”

“Why are you taking her side?”

Red groaned.  “There are no sides.  But if there were sides, I’d obviously be on yours.”

Henry rubbed his face.  “Sorry.  I think I’m getting cabin fever.  This cave is just so _small_.”

Red refrained from pointing out that the cave was just as small for him.  “How about more of what we had last night?”  He palmed his crotch and was pleased to feel his cock stirring.  Being wrung dry was a nice change of pace, but he wasn’t about to give up sex for any significant length of time.

Henry rolled his eyes.  “That might take care of a few minutes –”

“An hour,” Red protested.  “At least.”

“– but we still have an entire afternoon to fill.”

Red spared a moment to regret not bringing a book with them.  If nothing else, he could brain Henry with it.  “Why don’t you teach me something?”

Henry looked over incredulously.  “Teach you?”

Red shrugged.  “You said you like teaching and I have nothing against learning.”

A corner of Henry’s mouth quirked up.  “Well, there is a subject I wouldn’t mind expounding on.”

“Great.  I’m open to anything.”

“It’s about one of the most powerful works of literature ever written, composed by a famous American poet named Henry Lo–”

“Anything except that.”

Henry laughed and leaned over to rest his head on Red’s shoulder.  “Ah, Red.  I do miss getting to spend time with you.”

“I miss spending time with you.”  Red wrapped an arm around Henry.  “Maybe that’s what we should be doing with this time – figuring out ways to spend time with each other once this is all over.”

Thankfully, Henry did not immediately suggest that the current situation might never end.  Instead, he looked thoughtful.  “How often do you come into town?  Maybe you could visit me at the schoolhouse?”

“How private is the schoolhouse?  Do you have a secret room, like Mark?”

“No,” Henry admitted.  “And there are a lot of windows.”  He hesitated.  “Maybe we could use Mark’s house?  He is planning on going to San Francisco.”

That was true, but … “Mark has neighbors.  And that room is really small.”

“True,” Henry sighed.

“What about the winter break?  Isn’t that coming soon?”

Henry winced.  “It is.  Unfortunately, I’m going to need to work over the break.  I can’t afford to feed myself otherwise.”

Red shrugged.  “So work on the ranch.  I could always use the extra hand.”

“I thought you said the fifth pasture fence was done and that you can manage all of your chores by yourself.”

“I can manage if I have to,” Red said.  “That doesn’t mean that I want to.  I’m willing to pay a dollar a day to not have to do all of the chores by myself.”

“That’s generous,” Henry said.  “More than you paid me before.”

“You’re stronger than you were before,” Red pointed out.  “And more skilled.”

“I’m not sure how I feel about you paying me for sex.”

Red scowled down at him.  “I am _not_ paying you for sex.  I’m paying you for work.  The sex is just a perk.”

Henry smiled.  “All right.”

Red sat up a little straighter.  “All right?”

“All right, I’ll work for you during winter break.”

Red crowed and tackled Henry to the floor.

Relations got rather heated at that point, so much so that neither one noticed the sound of an incoming rider.  In fact, the first sign of company they noticed was Mark’s shout from just outside the cave.

“It came!  The telegraph came!  Henry, you’re free!”


	17. Chapter 17

The first thing Henry did when he got back to Copper Creek was check on the sheriff.  Willie had a black eye, a broken nose, and a split lip.  Henry was appalled.

"There now, son, it's not that big a deal," Willie said, patting Henry on the shoulder with one of his enormous hands.  "Looks worse than it is."

Henry had frowned, but allowed himself to be convinced.  He did decline Laura’s dinner invitation, however, and walked away feeling guilty.

Next, Henry went to the mayor's house – Willie gave him directions – and knocked on the door with his heart in his chest.  Mayor Hobbs answered with a gruff, “Yeah?”

Henry attempted a smile.  "Hi, Mayor Hobbs.  I'm sorry to disturb you so late, but I wanted to explain the rumors from the last few days and to absolutely reassure you that I'm _not_ a kidnapper.  Or a murderer."

"The sheriff’s already talked to me," Hobbs said.  "He told me what was going on."  He shook his head.  “City folk are a lot crazier than I thought.”

Henry stared for a moment.  “Does that mean I can go back to teaching?”

“You damn well better, because I’m not looking for another teacher.  Now, if that’s all, I’d like to get back to my dinner.”

Henry forced a smile, and fled.

He went back to the sheriff's house, with a quick stop at the general store.

"Thank you," he said sincerely, holding up a bowl of cherries.  They'd been dear, but worth every penny.

Willie laughed.  "No need to thank me.  We need a school master and the kids like you."  He leaned in and added, "Just between you and me, so does my wife.  Fortunately, I'm reaping the benefits."

Appalled, again, Henry managed a weak smile and fled back to the school house.

Red found him there the next day, after classes.  Henry beamed at him.  "Came all this way just to visit?"

"Had to deliver some sheep to Butte," Red corrected.

Henry felt his smile slip.

"And then came out of my way to visit," Red added.

Henry beamed again.  “It’s good to see you.”  He quirked one corner of his mouth up a little higher.  “Winter break feels like a long way away.”

“I was just thinking that,” Red said.  “Which is one reason why I came by.”  He started to lean in, then paused and glanced at the windows that lined the walls.  He sighed, then stood up straighter.  “What do your weekends look like?” he asked.  “Because I really could use some help with my laundry.”

~~~

It was a glorious day.  Henry tilted his head back and soaked up the early October sunlight, savoring the heat of the sun contrasted with the cool breeze of the air.

“You look to be having a good time.”

Henry smiled and dropped his chin back down.  “Hello, Mark.  Why aren’t you dancing?”

They both looked out at the crowd of people jumping and laughing and generally having a wonderful time in the McNally’s front yard.  “I’m taking a break,” Mark said.  “I wanted to talk with you.  Preferably, in private.”

Henry lifted his eyebrows.  “Should I be worried?”

“I hope not,” Mark said with a smile.  “Come on, let’s see if there’s any food left.”

They made their way to the food table.  It looked like a swarm of locusts had descended, leaving little more than crumbs and denuded corn cobs.  No food was to be had, which was probably why the table had been completely abandoned.  “At least we have privacy,” Henry offered.  “What did you want to talk about?”

“I hear you’re working the ranch on weekends.”

“That’s true.”  Henry ducked his head to hide a smile.  “We decided we didn’t want to wait till the winter break.”

“So you’re happy?  I know you were worried about how different you two are.”

“It’s working so far,” Henry said.  “I get my fill of teaching and reading during the week and on the weekends –”  He felt his cheeks start to burn.  “On the weekends I get my fill of other things.”  He saw the question on Mark’s face and quickly added, “Don’t worry, we’ve talked.”  He laughed.  “We talked a lot.  More than I wanted to, really, but Red wanted to be absolutely sure there was no more confusion.”

“That’s good to hear,” Mark said.  He cleared his throat.  “So … during your talk … did you ever discuss … sharing?”

“Ah,” Henry said, finally getting why Mark had wanted to talk to him.  “You want to know if Red can come and play.”

“It is my last dance in Copper Creek,” Mark said diffidently.

“You don’t have to explain,” Henry said.  “We did talk about sharing.  Most of the time, I’m against it.  For the dances, though, I agreed to make an exception.  Whatever Red does tonight, he’s doing it with my permission.”

Mark lit up.  “I am so happy to hear that.”

“I thought you would be,” Henry said with a laugh.  “When does it start?”

“Dusk.”  Mark eyed him for a moment.  “You know, you’re welcome to join us, if you want.”

Henry was already shaking his head before Mark finished talking.  “I don’t want exceptions.  Trust me, Red is plenty enough, all by himself.”

“I’ll take your word for it,” Mark said.  He looked back out over the party.  “Would you like to dance?  I don’t mind wearing the strip one last time.”

“That’s all right – dancing’s not really my forte.  Have fun, though, with your dancing, and with what comes after.”

Mark grinned.  “I will.  Thanks, Henry.  And if I don’t see you before I go, good luck.  I think you’ve made Copper Creek a better place.”  He leaned in and added, “Certainly you’ve made it a much more interesting place.”

Henry shook his head at him.  “You’re incorrigible.  San Francisco won’t know what hit it.”

“That’s what I’m hoping for,” Mark said.

They shook hands and then Mark went back into the crowd.  Henry watched him go with a pang.  His feelings toward Mark were complicated, and not always positive, but Mark had been his first friend after Red and Henry was going to miss him.

“What did he want?”

Henry glanced over to find Red standing next to him.  He had to smother a smile; Red was practically vibrating with excitement.

“Just stopping by to get permission.”

Red scowled.  “Did he really think I wouldn’t have checked with you first?”

“To be fair, you didn’t check with me last time.”

“I was an idiot last time,” Red said affably.  He bounced a little on his toes.  “Did you see?  Chris is here.”

“So he is.”  Henry lowered his voice.  “You don’t actually have to check with me every time, you know.  You’re free to do whatever you want at this dance.”

“I know,” Red said, and Henry was reassured by his confidence.  “I wanted to check with you anyway, see how you were doing.  You haven’t been dancing.”

“That’s because I don’t like dancing,” Henry pointed out.  “And I’m done doing things that I don’t like doing.”

“Except laundry.”

“Except laundry,” Henry repeated.  “And even then, only if you’re helping.”

They exchanged a quick smile before turning back to watch the dancers, a comfortable silence between them.

“We could go home now, if you wanted,” Red suddenly said.

Henry turned to him.  “What?  Why?”

Red lowered his voice to a growl.  “Because I want you.”

Henry grinned.  “Good thing you have me, then.”  He bumped his shoulder against Red’s, the only affectionate gesture he would allow himself in this crowd.  “Go on and find Chris.  Have a good time.  And just remember: when we get home tonight, you’re _mine_.”

Red let out a barely audible moan.  “We could go now,” he offered again.

“Sorry,” Henry said, not sorry at all.  “I want you worn out before I take a crack at you.  Besides, Mark would never forgive me.”

“All right,” Red said with a strained chuckle.  Henry glanced down to a noticeable bulge in Red’s pants.  “I better go away before I embarrass myself.”

“You do that.  But before you go, there’s something you should keep in mind.  Mark gave me a gift yesterday.  It’s in my saddlebags.  You’ll be wearing it on the way home.”

Red whimpered.

Henry grinned.  “Have fun.”

Muttering curses and with a slightly awkward stride, Red wandered back into the crowd.  Henry watched him go, feeling a warm swelling of affection in his chest.  Maybe he and Red were different.  Maybe they wouldn’t work forever.  For now, however, there was no one with whom Henry would rather be.

The sun finally touched the edges of the trees.  Henry watched as a head topped by an unruly mop of blond hair headed in the direction of the barn, a bright red head of hair close behind.  Henry was surprised to find that he didn’t feel any jealousy or regret at that moment, just a fierce burst of possessive satisfaction that whatever Red was going to do at the dance, at the end of the night, he was going home with Henry.  And Henry had some very definite plans on how the night would go.

Happy and maybe just a bit in love, Henry turned his face towards the dance floor.  It was packed with people, all of them moving and laughing and living their lives to the fullest.  With a contented sigh, Henry went down to join the party.


End file.
